


Seeing You, Seeing Me

by hurt_mod, smirkingcat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cutting, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3689004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurt_mod/pseuds/hurt_mod, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smirkingcat/pseuds/smirkingcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a story about wants, wishes and how to adapt to a new world. It's also a story about conversations, about how sentences could be intended and how different they might be heard and understood. It's also a story about getting to know one self, and figuring out how to live with who one is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing You, Seeing Me

****

Seeing you, seeing me

  
_Try to see it my way,_  
Do I have to keep on talking till I can't go on?  
Think of what you're saying  
You can get it wrong and still you think that it's alright.  
Think of what I'm saying  
We can work it out and get it straight or say good night.  
Try to see it my way  
Only time will tell if I am right or I am wrong  
While you see it your way  
There's a chance that we might fall apart before too long  


[The Beatles - We can work it out]

**Chapter 1 The world from beyond...**

Breathing.

In and out.

Taking air in, and breathing it out.

If he could only focus on that for now, for these few minutes he stole away for himself, it would give him some peace of mind.

He felt as if he was drowning, each day a little more. He straightened his back, looking in the mirror in front of him. This mirror had seen him at his worst. He dried his hands with the towel, whilst his gaze found the spot where he was nearly freed. He'd been dying and felt that failure would no longer matter. He would no longer have any impact on what would come in a future he did not dare to imagine.

But then there had been Severus.

However, for that instant, Potter had set him free and it was that moment that kept him going. That moment of silence from the world, when all he could hear was his heartbeat getting slower and slower; the feeling of his blood leaving him, warming the cold tiles he had landed on. He had not fought the sensation, he had no reason to.

Expectation was the first lesson Draco learned. A Malfoy knew that in expectations one could fail or satisfy, but failure was not an option. Success was not even an option, for a Malfoy was expected to exceed expectations. The envy on his peers had been great. Foolish children wanting to wander in his shoes, to live the life he lived, but Draco knew the true weight of being a Malfoy heir and that was why he was happy to fall beneath Potter's spell. Let Death take him. Let it relieve him.

Expectations.

Malfoy family.

Death Eater.

People knew little truth of the things they talked about, most of the time. Even if his name was worth nothing to the Wizarding World now he still had to satisfy expectations. There was no way out of family.

He took a deep breath, the same moment his _tempus charm_ went off. Time to face the others once again. "I can do it," he muttered quietly as he adjusted his tie, straightened his posture, smoothed his facial features, and added some charms to hide the black circles beneath his eyes before he left the lavatory. 

He was the last one to arrive at the corridor before the Charms Classroom. Flitwick was one of the few teachers who still treated him as a normal student, graded his assignments fairly, helped him when he did something wrong. This made Charms tolerable and preferable to all the other subjects. Teachers were not the only ones, who would like to make him pay for things he had little to no control over. However he had never complained about the envy his family seemed to inspire, so he would not complain about the hate now.

"Malfoy, glad you could make it. And look, you're even on time, not like for Arithmancy. How often are you even allowed to take detention," Smith called out to him, with a self satisfied smile.

Draco just stood there, waiting for Flitwick to start the lesson.

He did not dare try to argue. It would not change a thing, even if Smith's taunting did aggravate him. Draco was not responsible for his tardiness; that imbecile Smith was! Smith and all his "accidental" hexes he always sent at Draco.

He had been late for Vectors class more than five times already. It was not so much the detention that was worrying him, even if his mother would be scandalized if she knew, it was knowing that he could not get even with the douchebag.

But it was not only Vector. He had had more detention in these two months since the beginning of the year than all the years before. Sprout was the worst. She would always find a way to fault him for something. There had not been a single essay he had not rewritten. They both knew that he got it right the first time. Herbology was closely linked with potions, so he knew the intricacies of the herbs, the importance of the time of the harvest, and was also familiar with most of the theory connected with Herbology, not as well as Longbotton but he would ace the NEWT. However doing her stuff over and over again still killed his studying time. Draco was also being forced to take a NEWT in Muggle Studies. A subject he must at least get an E in. It bothered him. He managed to hide it, but it bothered him. He had never taken Muggle Studies before, and his Grandfather would have a fit of rage if he knew. A Malfoy taking Muggle Studies? The disgrace! Sadly, it was part of his probation, there was no way out.

That was what his life had become once he had started back at Hogwarts. Hogwarts was just as much of a prison to him now, as the Manor had been during the Dark Lords reign. With the difference being, in those days he had his mother and Severus to talk to.

The classroom door was opened before anybody else could say anything, which was rather fortunate in Draco's opinion, because that made him come away easy. He tried to stay out of the way, tried to go unnoticed, but that was not so simple.

He entered the classroom as last, and took the seat that was closest to the door. 

**Chapter 2 ...and above**

Talking.

Too much talking, all around him.

Drowning him in their words, their sentences.

It was funny how they all expected him to be the same old Harry as before and at the same time they all treated him so differently.

For everything he did Harry would hear an opinion, someone thought they had the right to have about his life: 'I heard Potter is dating Goldstein now, so MacMillan was not to his taste?' 'Doesn't he think he is rushing around?' 'If he just wants to get laid, why pretend?'

He didn't pretend, he told each partner what to expect. He was saying he only wanted sex, the concept would have made him flush in the past, but now it was rather appealing. Harry no longer cared which gender his partner had. Or that he had a huge fallout with Ginny. It didn't bother him, that Ginny was angry, it bothered him that Ron took it personally. "She is my sister, and you played with her!" he had said, but he never listened to Harry trying to explain, that he hadn't played with her. He had loved her, the old him had, he was sure.

But now he had lived and died to live again, he had seen so much, and he had faced himself. What he had liked about Ginny was the idea of family, and if he was very blunt with himself, she looked very much like his own young mother. Now that he had a real memory with his mother, Harry didn't want to lose it to the illusion he would have created with Ginny. He still loved her, but as family, as a sister. Family was another very difficult topic at the moment, because he wasn't so sure anymore if the Weasleys really would welcome him back this Christmas.

However Harry decided to let whatever Ron was thinking just happen, he couldn't change it, and he didn't want to change it. Besides, he understood that friendship couldn't always be smooth sailing, but he and Ron were always near the fall out, due to circumstances that Ron thought Harry had any influence in: his inheritance, his being a Parseltounge, his fame, that he had been tricked to be a Champion, that Kingsley really tried to persuade him to not go back to school and join the Aurors, the sodding wrong articles in the Prophet, the break-up with Ginny, that he dated around- the rumours in that sector were highly exaggerated. He was no virgin anymore but he was also not the slag that people want to believe him to be. People tended to believe whatever they want.

The saviour!

The hero, who came back for them.

The one, who would make the future better!

They really just wanted to shove their hopes on him, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to carry them. He did so for the last seven years, was the good boy, the one who did as was asked of him. But now things were different.

Dumbledore wasn't always right! Severus Snape didn't hate him for who he was, but for who his father was. His father was not always the good man people remembered. Some jokes were going too far, and some spells would have better been never used.

"...just waltzes in, like he owns the place. Just because he has grown up a bit, as if he is the only one. Sometimes Smith is simply right, even if that sounds wrong," Ron muttered underneath his breath.

"Don't," Harry shot back in a rather cold voice, as he usually did when Ron started to go that way. It was another point that vexed Ron, but he didn't dare say anything anymore, after the huge fights they had before and after Malfoy's trial.

Apparently Harry really needed to have another word with Smith!

As usual it was an effort to not look in Malfoy's direction. Malfoy, the only one who could really catch his interest, since the first time they met in Madam Malkin's. He had been the first Wizard child Harry had ever met. He could still remember that boy's excitement. Excitement Malfoy had shared so freely with a total stranger. When Harry thought about it know, that first meeting seemed very out of character for Malfoy.

As he entered the classroom he finally dared to let his eyes shift to Malfoy, roving over his graceful statue. Harry always wondered what it would take to make Malfoy relax. He had noticed, as he started searching for it in his memory: Malfoy never really relaxed, he always held himself poised, straight, even when he tried to mimic the poor posture of his friends. But these days it did not come with the easy grace that was so natural to the younger Malfoy, it looked forced, at least to Harry. As if Malfoy bound himself around a rod to just keep standing, like a Malfoy should, he supposed. But the biggest difference where the eyes, looking through everything, never really seeing anything anymore. No to mention that there was no bite left in Malfoy's words.

However Malfoy was here.

As was Harry.

Somehow Harry had the feeling, this was how it ought to be. It was consistency in an ever changing world and that was very soothing in its own way. 

They sat as per usual in the third row, behind Ravenclaws and Slytherins but far ahead of where Malfoy would sit. Harry knew it, even if he wouldn't look back. He could feel Malfoy, maybe due to the wand, maybe due to all the things they had experienced together, maybe because he wanted it, it did not matter, what mattered was that Malfoy was here, with him in their 8th year.

**Chapter 3 The one side**

In the still of the night, all he could hear were the crunching noises his fast steps made on the gravelled path, while his rushed breathing produced tiny clouds of moisture that disturbed his sight. It was very cold for the late hour of this last day of November, but snow had not yet started to fall.

Draco took a deep breath, tried to calm himself, and forced himself to walk at a slower pace.

"Breathe," he told himself for the umpteenth time, focusing on something different than his aggravated thoughts. Trying to soak in the feeling of the calm night that embraced him here, far away from all the people in the castle. Draco told himself that he was safe, that he could calm down, but he had not felt safe here since the first two weeks of the term, and before that it had been even longer.

Desperately he had to admit, at least to himself, that he was slowly but surely reaching wits end. He long refused to lie to himself anymore, no matter about the others, but from himself he would not hide the present situation. So, true to that promise he had no choice but to acknowledge the fact, that he started to feel as he had back in 6th year. Even if his situation was so different back then compared to now. The deep knowledge, that he could not take it much longer, was just the same.

The hitting he could take, the jinxes' and the attempted poisoning too. Though he now refused to take his Malfoy signet ring off, a warning indicating a lethal poison was better than no warning at all. Besides it was better for him, if most of the other students believed him too proud to change. Thought him still clinging to the old ways, and that his Malfoy-pride was the same as before. It was much better than the truth he tried to hide: He was afraid. Afraid of the judgments others passed over him, afraid of the pain the truth would cause his mother, and, above all, afraid to fail in this new world. A world, where so many just waited for him to fail.

Pressure.

There was always so much pressure: he had to stay in line, but also excel above all. Draco should be able to do complicated spell work, and at the same time his wand had more restrictions than a play wand a toddler would use.

Through his probation, he was pressured to be great and at the same time his abilities were restricted in every way they could get away with.

It felt a lot like the Dark Lord sending him out to kill Dumbledore: he was set up to fail. This time though, he was no longer sure if it would be really so bad to just make the mistake that everybody was waiting for.

No, Draco could not be so selfish! He knew that much, he had his mother to think of, the name of his family.

"I can't believe you! How could you say that, and to my face even! Have you no manners at all," the outraged female voice carried over from the right side from the direction of the Quidditch pitch.

He could see the girl stomping closer, Cornilia Garnett, he noted as she passed by, without taking notice of him. Slytherin, pure-blood family, came back after the war, hid in the Netherlands, if his father's sources were to be believed.

"I've told you that from the start, I'm NOT interested in any permanent set-up. It was for a bit of fun, and you said you are cool with it. I might remind you," Potter's voice came after hers. Draco snorted. Of course, he had to get tangled up in Potter's love life - a love life, that was all over the place, even he heard the rumours about Wonderboy - on a day when all Draco really wanted was to be alone and to be left alone.

He took another deep breath and allowed a smirk to slip across his face, placing his feelings behind his perfected aloof mask. He would not kid himself into thinking that, like Garnett, Potter would pass him without noticing. He never had such luck when it came to the bloody twat and he did not believe that his good fortune would start now.

Potter stopped in front of to where Draco was standing, turned and looked right at him.

"Having fun watching, Malfoy?" Potter narrowed his vivid eyes at Draco.

"There went your easy little slag, Potter, pity... I heard rumours that one was an excellent ball handler," he shot right back.

"She wasn't the worst, but she wasn't the best." Potter shrugged, and it was unfair how carefree he appeared. "I heard rumours all you pure-bloods were good with casual sex," Potter moved closer as he spoke. His words casual but his walk was purposeful, and Draco saw the intentions therein.

"Oh, believe me Potter, we are," he smirked.

"Care to prove that, Malfoy?" Potter stood not a foot from him.

"I do not slag about, scarhead," he tsked at him.

"Well, I'd let you call the shots, if that's what you want. I don't care about details. I just want to get off," Potter shrugged.

"So? You are offering yourself to prostitute for me?" Draco said with a raised eyebrow. As the scowl on Potter's face grew even deeper he cut him off, before Potter could get a word out: "Give me a break, Potter. How stupid do you think I am? All you want is to show them that you are not the hero they demand you to be," Draco moved his arm to indicate the castle and at the same time took a slight step back. "I would be a very good asset for that, seeing how they all regard me as scum."

He could feel Potter's eyes traveling up and down his body: "You're right. Imagine it, Malfoy. They'll hate me. You'd like that and so would I." Before Draco could protest Potter added, "And it's not just their disgust I'm after; I've got eyes, you know, and I'd love to unwrap you - bit by bit," Potter smirked at him, shifting in a very cocky way.

"Well, all that statement did, was prove that at least you have eyes behind those horrid glasses of yours. I doubted that much, when I saw you with MacMillan," Draco said and crossed his arms over his chest.

"It's not all about looks, you know? MacMillan gives great head, best I've had so far," Potter replied with a very dirty gin. Draco lifted his eyebrows, making his opinion clear- he did not give a damn about the head MacMillan gives.

"It's true, but I'll give you a shot too. Let you prove yourself, and then we will know which of you sucks me better," Potter wiggled his brows, still grinning.

"You can say all you want; for one your word means nothing to me and for the other, I do not have to prove myself to you," Draco glared at Potter.

"What a loss. It could've been great for the two of us," Potter added in a still playful voice.

"It is all nice and easy trying to change yourself and making the others change the way they think about you. But I highly doubt you thought this all the way through when you started your game playing the delinquent," he made his voice sound sharper, with a defined edge there.

"Is that so? And where's the problem with that? Since I refuse to be their hero; it's only better for them to understand that now rather than later," Potter said.

"Well, let us do something you are not quite accustomed with: Think things through! You keep going the way you are, getting the bad boy image, getting negative attention, because your stories will be sold out to the Prophet. Next summer you will get some passable NEWTs, not the best, because you are not so much into studying, seeing as you prefer to spent time in a different manner, but passable. Later on you will want a job, because sitting at home is not your thing, you are not so sure about the Auror stuff anymore. So, how do you plan on getting hired? As far as I see, at the rate you are going at the moment, there will be only one way: You remind them that you are the Dark Lord Vanquisher, The Boy Who Lived Twice, The Man That Came Back, The Killer Of Voldemort, and you will get hired. Just that everything will be exactly as it is now, not a thing will have changed for you, besides that your friends think you are unhinged and that they cannot stop worrying about you," he snorted at the scarhead.

Potter could not think things through if his life depended on it. The war had proven that on so many occasions. If Voldemort had been a little bit more level headed, not cared so much about the way Potter would die, but just that he would be killed, there would have been no way that this would have been the outcome.

Potter just looked at him with big, wide eyes, before he narrowed them at Draco.

"Uhh, did I hit a sore spot there? Did you really never think so far? Well, that is just you, is it not?" he could not stop mocking the stupid git. "How did you put it in your last interview: _It was luck and coincidence and the hard work and effort of many people_ , was not that the line you chose?" he pushed on, seeing that for the moment he had the upper hand and he would not let this slide. A victory over Potter. A victory he wanted way too long. And now it seemed to be happening. Draco could not believe this. It was like his worst day of this term just turned into his lucky day. It did not change anything big, but still it would be a victory.

"That' s rich coming from you, ferretface. But in the end, I ain't the one hiding in alcoves, not daring to go down and eat, speaking to no one but a ghost and answering only questions the teacher ask me by name. I don't need to listen to a boy who can't handle reaping what he sowed," Potter shot back after a few heartbeats and crossed his arms over his chest now too.

Draco could feel the shock creeping through his body. How did Potter know? He could feel his mask starting to slip, the feeling of being afraid, of wanting to run away coming over him. He refused to give in. Not in front of Potter! Never would he lose his composure in front of that git!

"That is all so clever and righteous, but if you want to go there, let us go down memory lane together, and remember why my family name and my social standing is even lower than your favourite Weasleys'. Ah, yes, I seem to recall there was a question, with a simple answer that could have made the Malfoys once more a very strong and powerful family. An answer I refused to give, so that you could become the legend they all believed you are," Draco said, feeling that the more he remembered that day, the colder his voice had become.

"So you would've liked a life with Voldemort as your permanent life-in lord? And here I was thinking you're better than that," Potter looked at him, his eyes blazing. "Funny how you've forgotten that I not only repaid my life- debt to you once, when I pulled you out of that horrid fire your friend cast. The second time I didn't have to, Malfoy. After the war I did everything to keep you out of Azkaban," he did go on, bringing himself to his full height.

"Do not go there, Potter!" Draco shouted and could feel his fingernails marking his skin, as he formed fists with his fingers, arms still crossed. He did not dare to unfold his arms, because then he would go for his wand and that was not an option he had.

"Go there? It was you, who wanted to go down memory lane, I just joined you for the ride!" Potter shouted right back at him, also forming fists with his fingers.

And suddenly Draco felt like he was back in the bathroom. Back just seconds before Potter's curse hit him and nothingness settled over him. And with the widening of Potter's eyes and the haunted expression in them he knew he was not the only one. Maybe Draco could have that release again, if he just was able to push the right button again.

He never failed to push Potter over the edge. 

Draco let his lips widen in a slow, mocking smile.

"If I would have to choose, I would do it all over again, for my family. For my mother! For my father! For everything and every generation of Malfoys and Blacks they taught me about. For this world of magic that I was born into, because this is the only world I know. And in the end, one thing the Dark Lord said is true: You can go back to your Muggle way of living, but I cannot," he said in a low but serious voice.

Potter's reaction to his words was immediate. Draco could feel the magic flaring in Potter's hands, could see how aggravated he got because of them, his eyes seemed to blaze in the night.

Draco sucked in the cold air, waiting for the reaction he knew was coming. It would have some irony - dying a second time by Potter's heroic hand- his family certainly would not be proud of this death, but at that moment, the thought of being set free was too tempting.

However Potter just stood there and looked at him. What was he waiting for? Draco would not even fight back. He had learned to endure, with his aunt, with the Dark Lord, with his schoolmates in this 8th year.

"Sometimes, Malfoy, I really don't understand you at all. You act the fool, and twist situations like no one I've ever met. But at the same time I always wonder: what is it that you really want? You said I didn't think things through, and yes, I will not deny that it's true, but at least I know myself. And in the mornings, when I wake up, and look in the mirror, I know who is staring back at me. And the people have to deal with me, hate me or adore me, some might even love me, do so for who I am, not for who they want me to be. Can you say the same?" Potter said in a very calm voice, again looking him over from head to toe and then he went away silently.

Draco slumped as his breathing became ragged once more, as it was before his interaction with Potter, and the feeling of anguish stronger than before while it pumped through his vines. Never noticing that his charms no longer hid the painful truth from Potter.

**Chapter 4 The other side**

The kiss was a little on the wet side, but the feeling was still pleasant. Their tongues were sliding against each other playfully , and the soft body settled nicely against his. Every so often a tiny noise would escape her.

Cornilia was not the best shag he ever had, but she was fit and it was good sex.

As they broke the kiss, Harry leaned in to trail a soft row of kisses along her neck, his hands groping her soft breast beneath her blouse. He could hear her breathing eagerly against his ear, which made him smile.

"I was wondering," she whispered in a very seductive voice, "if you would like to accompany me to Hogsmeade this Saturday?" Her fingers played with the ends of his hair, stroking ever so slightly the skin at his neck, a feeling he liked very much. Usually he would lean right into this soft touch, but her question made him ridged, and move away.

"I'm not really interested in dating you. Besides I already promised my friends I'd go with them," he answered honestly, looking her in the eyes. "But that doesn't mean I'm not interested in this," he mumbled against her lips. A hot pulsing sensation bloomed across Harry's cheek, and he needed a few seconds to realize that this sensation came from the slap he had just earned himself. It had been a long time since he was last hit, but the after effects were exactly as unpleasant as he remembered them to be.

Cornilia, he saw, was striding away towards the castle, so he took a deep breath to calm himself, before he walked after her. Harry concluded that they were done, after all she got to slap him hard. He followed her in silence, until they came closer to the lake.

"I can't believe you! How could you say that, and to my face even! Have you no manners at all," Cornilia shouted at him. Harry really tried to hold his temper, to not turn this into a bigger mess than it already was, but there was no helping it: "I've told you that from the start, I'm NOT interested in any permanent set-up. It was for a bit of fun, and you said you are cool with it, I might remind you," He hated the feeling of justifying himself to her, but he had told her so before they started this beneficial "relationship".

As he let the distance between himself and her grow, he could feel that they were no longer alone outside, on this cold night. And in the whole castle there was only one person whose vibes he could pick up, like it was his second nature. He came abruptly to a halt, turning to the side and knowing who he would face.

"Having fun watching, Malfoy?" he shouted before the blond could start mocking him. Yes, he may have made a miscalculation here, why must that stupid git be a witness to his humiliation? For once in his life he wished something embarrassing would happen without Draco Malfoy being right there to see it. But then the images of Malfoy holding Dumbeldore at wandpoint, kneeling before Voldemort and looking utterly lost in a hug with said vile lunatic flashed through his mind, and he cursed silently. Harry could not deny that he had seen the worst of Draco Malfoy too.

"There went your easy little slag, Potter, pity... I heard rumours that one was an excellent ball handler," Malfoy mocked him, sidestepping his question. Of course he would; the git liked to irk Harry.

"She wasn't the worst, but she wasn't the best. I heard rumours all you pure-bloods were good with casual sex," Harry said with more confidence than he felt, moving closer to the blond. Everybody talked about his affairs at the moment and shared opinions on how he was to live his life. It was so annoying. So really no one could fault him for venting his frustrations at the ferret. And he always enjoyed riling Malfoy up. It was so easy to do too. The pride of a Malfoy it seemed, at least to Harry, could be hurt quite easily.

"Oh, believe me Potter, we are," was Malfoys swift reply served with the usual smirk.

"Care to prove that, Malfoy?" Harry stepped closer, grinning himself.

"I do not slag about, scarhead," Malfoys temper rose. Harry could feel Malfoy's irritation. Well that he could use.

"Well, I'd let you call the shots, if that's what you want. I don't care about detail. I just want to get off," he said simply and shrugged it off.

"So? You are offering yourself to prostitute for me?"Malfoy said, his pointy brow rising. When put that way, it was sounding rather bad, but really what was the harm? Sex was sex Harry didn't care about details, never had and never will. But before he could add something Malfoy continued talking: "Give me a break, Potter. How stupid do you think I am? All you want is to show them that you are not the hero they demand you to be," Malfoy gestured with his hand, pointing to the castle, he could also see that Malfoy took a step backwards, as if afraid of him. "I would be a very good asset for that, seeing how they all regard me as scum."

Harry let his gaze wander over Malfoy, really looking at him. There was no denying that the git had himself covered in the look department. Lean frame, he lost weight and something was off, but Harry could not put his finger on it. Also that Draco sodding Malfoy would so openly speak the truth about his new status in this world somehow irked Harry.

"You're right. Imagine it, Malfoy. They'll hate me. You'd like that and so would I. And it's not just their disgust I'm after; I've got eyes, you know, and I'd love to unwrap you - bit by bit," he grinned, stating the obvious and waiting for a reaction. The reaction that followed was the exact one Harry was looking for.

"Well, all that statement did, was prove that at least you have eyes behind those horrid glasses of yours. I doubted that much, when I saw you with MacMillan."

There was some pride, some fighter instinct left in Malfoy. What word had Olivander used for Malfoys wand? Resilient, like its owner.

"It's not all about looks, you know? MacMillan gives great head, best I've had so far," Harry pressed on, this was so much more entertaining than trying to calm Cornilia. But this statement only got a minimal physical reaction, Harry wanted more, and he knew he could get it.

"It's true, but I'll give you a shot too. Let you prove yourself, and then we will know which of you sucks me better," he made his voice just a little bit suggestive.

"You can say all you want; for one your word means nothing to me and for the other, I do not have to prove myself to you," was shot back at Harry, with a feisty glare.

"What a loss. It could've been great for the two of us," Harry said, with a sad undertone, still playing. Even through... if Malfoy would agree... he really wouldn't say no, he had eyes after all, and the image of Malfoy in sweet agony, the image he currently had in his mind was something Harry would like to see for real.

"It is all nice and easy trying to change yourself and making the others change the way they think about you. But I highly doubt you thought this all the way through when you started your game playing the delinquent," Malfoy spoke from the moral high horse. As if that stupid ferret knew what he was talking about.

"Is that so? And where's the problem with that? Since I refuse to be their hero; it's only better for them to understand that now rather than later," Harry replied calmly.

"Well, let us do something you are not quite accustomed with: Think things through! You keep going the way you are, getting the bad boy image, getting negative attention, because your stories will be sold out to the Prophet. Next summer you will get some passable NEWTs, not the best, because you are not so much into studying, seeing as you prefer to spent time in a different manner, but passable. Later on you will want a job, because sitting at home is not your thing, you are not so sure about the Auror stuff anymore. So, how do you plan on getting hired? As far as I see, at the rate you are going at the moment, there will be only one way: You remind them that you are the Dark Lord Vanquisher, The Boy Who Lived Twice, The Man That Came Back, The Killer Of Voldemort, and you will get hired. Just that everything will be exactly as it is now, not a thing will have changed for you, besides that your friends think you are unhinged and that they cannot stop worrying about you," Malfoy stated in a very rational fashion, and Harry's temper flared. But he couldn't deny the truth of that statement. He never thought about the future anymore, just trying to get though one day after another. However he certainly didn't need Malfoy pointing that out for him!

"Uhh, did I hit a sore spot there? Did you really never think so far? Well, that is just you, is it not?" Malfoy went on. "How did you put it in your last interview: _It was luck and coincidence and the hard work and effort of many people,_ was not that the line you chose?" Malfoy taunted him with his own words, the quotes of Harry's last interview before the 8th year had started! How dared he! As if he was without any faults!

"That' s rich coming from you, ferretface. But in the end, I ain't the one hiding in alcoves, not daring to go down and eat, speaking to no one but a ghost and answering only questions the teacher ask me by name. I don't need to listen to a boy who can't handle reaping what he sowed," Harry crossed his arms, not only mimicking Malfoy's stance but also to prevent himself from hitting the bloody arsehole! For a moment he felt as if he saw pain in those silver eyes, but it was gone in flash and Harry was sure he was only imagining things, because some of the stuff Malfoy had mentioned really hurt.

"That is all so clever and righteous, but if you want to go there, let us go down memory lane together, and remember why my family name and my social standing is even lower than your favourite Weasleys'. Ah, yes I seem to recall there was a question, with a simple answer that could have made the Malfoys once more a very strong and powerful family. An answer I refused to give, so that you could become the legend they all believed you are," was shouted at him in a very cold voice, one full of menace. Harry could not believe what he heard, when he clearly remembered the hopeless look in Draco's eyes that day at the Manor, the fear in their sixth year. He would not believe these words.

"So you would've liked a life with Voldemort as your permanent life-in lord? And here I was thinking you're better than that," he said and starred Malfoy to the ground, daring him to say something, lie to his face!

"Funny how you've forgotten that I not only repaid my life- debt to you once, when I pulled you out of that horrid fire your friend cast. The second time I didn't have to, Malfoy. After the war I did everything to keep you out of Azkaban," he went on, because Malfoy had no room to talk to him in that manner.

"Do not go there, Potter!" Malfoy spat out, looking like a snake ready to bite. Harry could hear the fabric of his robes shifting. Malfoy's silver eyes full of contempt looking at him.

"Go there? It was you, who wanted to go down memory lane, I just joined you for the ride!" he shouted right back at the git, digging his heels into the ground, trying not to move. If he did, Harry would hit him, hard, tear him limb from limb, not just because of all that was Malfoy's fault, no, but Harry's temper was tested by most of the Hogwarts population these days, and his sexual outlet had left him hanging dry. He was on the verge of boiling over; he could feel it.

Suddenly Malfoy's look changed, and they were both back in that stupid bathroom. Harry just knew it. He hated himself for that memory, for the pain he had inflicted, for considering Malfoy- his rival, someone to best or be bested by- his real enemy, an equal to Voldemort. Until that vile smile appeared and words came out from those horrid lips: "If I would have to choose, I would do it all over again, for my family. For my mother! For my father! For everything and every generation of Malfoys and Blacks they taught me about. For this world of magic that I was born into, because this is the only world I know. And in the end, one thing the Dark Lord said is true: You can go back to your Muggle way of living, but I cannot."

Harry could feel the moment he lost the control over his magic, could feel it pouring out of him, straight at Malfoy. He had no control left. All he could sense was the fury mixed with the pain at Malfoy's words. He never thought Malfoy was capable of saying such horrible things to his face, after everything that had happened between them.

And then his magic reached Malfoy, and he could see the charms just break away, showing the ugly, stark truth: dark bags beneath both eyes, cheekbones that were too sharp in the face, Malfoy's fingers like spiderfeet- so thin and knobbly. Malnutrition and starvation clearly left their marks.

Harry felt as if he were starring at what would have become of him if the Dursleys hadn't been so afraid of magic. He was hit so forcefully by the feeling of helplessness that he forgot to breath. There was nothing he could do, was there? And even if there was, Malfoy would never accept his help, the words spoken by Malfoy before were proof of that.

"Sometimes Malfoy, I really don't understand you at all. You act the fool, and twist situations like no one I've ever met. But at the same time I always wonder: what is it that you really want? You said I didn't think things through, and yes, I will not deny that it's true, but at least I know myself. And in the mornings, when I wake up, and look in the mirror, I know who is staring back at me. And the people have to deal with me, hate me or adore me, some might even love me, do so for who I am, not for who they want me to be. Can you say the same?" he asked softly, feeling utterly shocked and sad and helpless. He looked once more at Draco, because he could not call the broken man Malfoy- he was nothing of what Harry thought Malfoys to be- and walked away.

**Chapter 5 Going on**

Faster, he had to be faster.

His breath was already failing him- the feeling of nausea was trying to overwhelm him- but he had to get away. The hallway was swimming before his eyes but he could not stop. He had to go on, to get away, to save himself.

Faster, faster, away from danger.

Finally he reached the door he was hoping for, and threw himself inside shutting it behind himself and leaned against it. Slowly he sank to the ground, the raspy noises of his breathing breaking the silence in the room, and his body shook violently from the fear that would not leave him.

If only he could breathe!

Then there were voices on the other side of the door. Male voices were clearly audible, a lot of heavy steps moving by, more shouting, girls voices now too. The corridor must be packed with students. Draco trembled. He closed his eyes and waited as silent as he could manage, as he willed the seconds to pass faster.

Draco could not help the tears that were running down his cheeks, and the keening noises that escaped his throat. He tucked his legs closer to his chest and hid his face in his hands, while he leaned down on his knees. He could not take it anymore. He just wanted to go home, to be safe, if just for a night.

It took Draco more than half of the allotted time for the break to find it in him to try and get up. His legs felt shaky, and he had to fight dizziness. Draco knew he just had to survive the next nineteen days, and then he could go home. A haunted home, tainted with bad memories of the last two years, but his home. At least there he could be alone.

Very slowly he moved closer to the basin. He had to wash his face, straighten his uniform and then go back to class. But the thought of being trapped in a room with all the others, made his knees weak again. He had to go on, Draco knew that much. The question Draco could no longer answer was _where to go on to_ , and what purpose did going on serve?

"You get paler by the day, not to mention how skinny you are," Myrtle said, hovering over her stall. "Think of it this way: the skinny me will not take much space in your little kingdom," Draco replied politely but the smile barley touched his lips. "You know, you are right, and then we can both ponder the mystery of your problem with electricity," she sounded unfazed and came closer.

She would be the only thing he would miss, when he left school. She would talk to him, debate with him, like the true Ravenclaw she was. She never judged him for what he had been doing or what he was doing now.

"First of all, it is not my problem with electricity, seeing how all wizards have problems with all the contraptions that electricity powers while doing magic. I would say it is a general wizarding problem," he tried to joke with her, because he knew that she liked jokes, even the really bad ones. "And, before you wish me to join you in afterlife so soon, think who will feed you new information about this mystery called electricity? So grant me a few more months, would you?" he asked before he washed his face.

He knew too well that she was right, without the charms he truly looked horrible. However he chose not to think about the way he looked. All he needed was a good rest, he was sure of it. A rest form all these people here in the castle.

"So, you found out something new? Tell me! I demand that you tell me this instant," Myrtle was suddenly behind him, watching him in the mirror.

"It is not really much, this is a rather big assignment and many students find it very entertaining, so it is hard to find the right books. But I have a theory. As you know electricity relies on these small particles to work. And when you think about transfiguration then you know that magic can find a way to change these particles. I think that transfiguration could be one of the keys to understand why wizards damage electricity," he told her his theory.

"That sounds rather promising, I'm impressed. Let me think about that, maybe I can add some new insight that you, pure-blood, are missing," she flew away, to sit on the wall of her stall.

"Why, as a Muggle-born, are you not better at this?" Draco asked her, drying his face, starting to apply his charms, even though doing so began to drain him.

"Back in my days at home, we had no electricity either, and in fact very little was known about it. I remember my father being very excited one day, because our neighbour was getting his own telephone. I come from the countryside, not the luxurious city," she huffed at Draco, turning her head away.

"I will never understand why you call the city-life luxurious. For all that I have seen, it must be awful," Draco stated and tried to smooth his uniform. He had to go back to class, he did not want to, and did not really feel like going, but he had to.

Only till the Christmas Holidays began. He would be home soon. That was the thought that kept him going.

He bid his good bye to Myrtle, took one last deep breath and opened the door, leaving his hideout.

He was, as he intended to be, the last one to arrive in the hallway of the Potions room. He could feel the moment his presence was noted and the glares made him tense up.

He would not run away.

He would stay, go to class, and be a good student. He would not flee! Even if all of his body wanted to.

He was a Malfoy, he could handle this situation. Of course he could, he handled much worse during the war.

The silence that had fallen over the corridor was getting heavier by the moment and Draco feared that there would be another side comment. Smith and his buddy Boot had made it their new hobby to come up with crude things to say to him or jinxes, which seem to be harmless, until Draco realized the damage they had done. Sometimes it was things such as destroying his homework, covering his books in black non- removable ink so that they became useless. He never could say if both of them were involved in the beatings he had taken, but he also would not put it past them

He watched Smith carefully, but not obvious, that at least was a lesson that Draco had learned very fast with his aunt, and so he noticed the very quick, frightened glances Smith always threw in the same direction. It puzzled Draco, because who did Smith fear? And moreover why? All his classmates really enjoyed Smith's oh so witty comments about him and Dracos family. Very slowly Draco tried to take a look in the direction Smith was glancing, only to have Potter's voice- in an unusually loud fashion- disturb the silence from the direction Smith was looking at.

"We definitely have to get you into a cinema. I've been only once myself, but the big screen's just amazing," could Potter be clearly heard.

"I love going to the cinema. I often go with my parents. It's really quite entertaining, even if I still prefer a good book," Granger's voice jumped in, sounding only a little forced.

Draco huffed silently. Somehow being saved from Smith's daft mockery by the Golden Trio, even if it was more likely the Golden Duo- seeing as Weasley's voice was not audible to Draco because the rest of the class started their conversations again too- was infuriating

But at the same time he felt relief flooding him, because he was not sure, if he could have stood up to Smith one more time in silence.

Draco was so weak, so tired and so helpless. If his father knew how weak Draco was, he would... Draco could not imagine what his father would do, but he was sure it would not be pretty and that it would involve a lot of pain.

At long last Slughorn opened his classroom for them to enter and the lesson began. This was Draco's last lesson for the day, and he was so ready for it to be over. He wanted to hide once more and talk electricity with Myrtle, and try to do his other homework which was not half as interesting and challenging.

In the end, he should have known the moment that he dared to relax, that his plans were going to be ruined.

As dinner time approached he began to collect his stuff from the floor, of the vast end of the Room. As per usual he was hiding here working, and Myrtle would either talk to him or watch him study. And on the rare occasion that some girl would enter the lavatory, she would moan, like she was famous for, and drive them away. Draco was incredibly grateful for her protective behaviour towards him. For never judging him, even when back in sixth year he had raged on about how mud-bloods were polluting his world, and that was the reason why he was in such a mess. He figured to the dead such things were no longer important.

After he had packed away his quill, scrolls and books, he wished her a good night and left the room.

In his time he had learned that dinner was the meal most of the students and staff liked to attend early. The opposite to breakfast. Lunch would always be a coming and going. But dinner was when the Great Hall filled with the most students.

So it was the easiest time for Draco to go back to the Slytherin dorms, without being either seen or intercepted. It also helped that he learned many ways to sneak around the main routes through the school. Still he had no choice on his way back: he had to pass the Great Hall as he walked down from the first floor to his chambers.

Only this evening he found himself being intercepted by a very beautiful Barn owl gliding towards him from the Great Hall. It was not the sight of the owl that shocked him, but the huge envelope it was caring. It was at least 8 inches long and 5 inches wide. This meant nothing good.

The owl was unmistakably his mother's and a large envelope, made out of exquisite paper, written in a very formal, but polite style often carried her worst messages. It was one of the rules she lived by: Bad messages should come in beautiful wrapping.

He just stared at the owl in disbelief. There could be no message she had to send him, that would require such a big formality. And Draco did not even dare to imagine the tone this message would carry.

The beautiful owl swooped softly over him to land on one of the two big pillars of the balustrade. Draco could feel his mouth go dry. He was sure he did not want to read what was in this envelope. The owl made a tiny noise and he finally grabbed the message. The owl took off as soon as he received the letter and that was another bad sign. This letter did not need a reply. Whatever it contained, the decision was already made.

Draco placed the letter into his pocket and hurried away from the Great Hall, back to his dorm. He opted for a shower first, to calm himself. Also because later the showers would not be this empty. Since his mother did not require an answer, he did not feel the need to rush reading whatever news she felt to tell him. Still, it bothered him. The parchment was too elegant, too formal for their usual correspondence. In former years he would get some sweet or chocolate gift with a small note on what seemed like to be a left over sheet off parchment, but it had a warm tone in it and her handwriting was fine but also somehow gentle. Most were small wishes for his well-being or his return home. This letter was not. And whatever was in this letter, he was not going to like it. Not knowing made him nervous but the fear of knowing was also very strong.

When he was back in his room, dressed in his nightgown with the thick envelope in hand, he still had not made his mind up. Maybe he should read it tomorrow? This day had been very hard, and he already felt so drained. It had been one of the rare days when he had managed to escape the beatings and was only jinxed a few times. He had bruised because of the fall down the stairs due to the _leg-lock-jinx_ , but nothing severe. Draco nodded to himself. He deserved this quiet evening. So he shoved the letter beneath his pillow and grabbed his schoolwork. Tomorrow morning, before his first lesson, with Myrtle gone wherever she went in the mornings, he would read this letter in his safe place.

Early the next morning he made his way very quickly to the lavatory. He had finished all of his homework, before exhaustion had overcome him and managed to sleep for a few hours. As it was still dark outside the castle, and most of the torches only burned at half of their intensity he would guess that it must have been around five o'clock in the morning. He liked to wander around the silent castle. He did not feel the urge to run and hide and the loneliness he was feeling suited him just fine. And soon he would go home, be safe for real and be with his mother. This was another thing that had started to bug him about the letter. He would be home soon, so why the letter? Was it such an urgent matter? And if so, what was he expected to do about?

He was sitting near the big windowsill leaning against the wall. Once more he looked at the fine parchment, with silver-dye embroidered along the edges of the envelope. Only the dark green seal with the black M in the centre was visible from the outside.

With shaking, thin fingers Draco broke that seal, so that the letter could unfold.

_Malfoy Manor_

Thursday, December 5th

_To my son and heir,_

__

__

_I hope you are doing well. You have not written since early October, so I have no reason to believe otherwise._

Malfoys always prevail. You are no exception to this rule. 

_I am, as you are, well aware of the austerity the war has caused our family. Our name has been shamed by the dealings of your father, yourself, and the role I played. I believe you are as aware as I am that we must change the current circumstances for our futures sake and for the family's future sake. It is a duty bestowed upon us, since your father will not have the opportunity to redeem himself or his family._

As I know you are aware of this situation and are trying your best to change it. I believe it is best if you do not come home this Christmas, but remain at Hogwarts so that you might make amends were they are necessary. We began this long progress of atonement after the trials, and we will pursue this path until there is no reason to feel any guilt for what we have done. 

_Draco, I know you did not want to undertake those tasks which were forced upon you. You accomplished them for your family, and as you did then, do it now for the family. Also I do not believe it would be a good time for you to return to your ancestral home._

When you will be back in the summer next year and Malfoy Manor will be ready for you and will welcome you home as the rightful heir of the family.

Until then, my son, know I only carry the best wishes and hopes for you in my heart. I believe, that when we will meet again our fortunes will have changed. 

_Yours,_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

Matriarch of the Malfoy family. 

Draco read the letter, over and over and over again. Never noticing how his breath had grown shallow, how he barely managed to breathe at all. He could not understand what was going on. How? Why?

His heartbeat was very loud in his ears.

_Make amends where they are necessary._ What did that mean? How could he amend something he had no influence over?

He had to remain at Hogwarts, for the holidays. His mother did not wish for him to come home. They would spend Christmas apart.

He would have to endure this alone.

He let the letter fall and heaved himself up to the basin, feeling like he would throw up any second.

Draco splashed cold water into his face and tried to breathe, but he felt like someone was strangling him. He was no longer able to get air into his lungs. And that feeling caused his panic to intensify. Whoever would stay here during their holidays would blame him for the loss of their family. He was sure of it. But the more pressing matter was how he would survive till then.

It was just too much. Way too much.

He sank to his knees, trying to find a way to cope. He just needed to feel free, to feel not so pressured, or better yet to not feel at all.

The heartbeat in his ears had grown so loud and fast, that he could barely think anymore. There was only room for panic, for hopelessness, for the feeling of drowning.

Draco's hands shifted across the cold marble tiles, felt the stone texture, and suddenly there was the memory of the relief he felt in this room once before. He just needed to have some kind of relief again.

He dragged himself back to the window and started to go through his backpack. He did not have to search long for the silver knife. The one with the dragon engraved along its blade and his name in its hilt.

The name would start to burn if someone was to steal it from him, and if the light was not sufficient enough the dragon would blow fire so that he could see the things he was slicing. It had been a very elegant gift; one he had loved from the moment he received it.

Draco always placed it in the same side pocket of his backpack.

The knife lay cold and heavy in Draco's hand. His fingers smoothed over the edge. It was very sharp, would stay so for as long as it was used. His magic helped the knife to stay sharp. It was such an amazing blade. But in this moment it became more. In his mind it was a way to relief. Out from this mess his life had become since his fifth year.

Slowly he laid the knife on his knee, and balanced it there, while he pushed back the sleeve of his robes from his right arm. He was amazed how steady his hands were, because it felt like ants were eating him and running astray under his skin. His hands however moved with their usual efficiency. His right stayed still, and the fingers of his left arm opened the cufflinks with ease, so he could push the sleeve of his button-down also up his arm.

The skin that was revealed was pale with a tinge of grey. It looked sick even to Draco, but he pretended that it was just the horrible lighting of the room. Slowly he reached for the knife again.

Draco could hear his heartbeat calming down, until it became a slow, steady beat. Somehow he felt as if he should have been more nervous concerning what he was about to do, but instead Draco felt, for the first time in years, serene and in control.

He brought the point of the knife down on his pale skin. He watched how the cold metal forced his skin to form goose bumps around it, and how they spread. His fingers twitched once in response to the knife. He did not want to kill himself, he could never do this to his mother or disgrace his family in such a way. So he had to chose the middle of his forearm as the right spot. Draco did not allow himself to think about it too much, because if he did, he would think about what marked the skin on his left arm in the exact same spot. That mark was something he did not want to think about ever again.

With a gentle movement he let the knife slide with the tip to the side of the blade across his skin, and then he felt the sharp pain as the blade broke his skin; making blood appear. Draco was captivated by the few red dots of blood, which escaped the small wound and started to form thin lines across his arm. The sight of his blood made the ants in his body disappear one by one. He felt like all the inside of him loosened themselves up for the first time since the last time he bled in this very room.

A slow, small smile painted Draco's lips while his eyes were still transfixed on his red blood.

A method to go on. He had found that once more.

**Chapter 6 Moving forward**

The chatter around him grew less annoying as his mind started to wander. At least here in the Gryffindor common room he could be sure that he was not the topic of conversation. Here Harry was, mostly, one of them except for the first and second years. He hoped that by Christmas the younger students would be over their awe completely. Since most of the heroworship had calmed down a little all over the castle, he had high expectations. What helped a great deal that he was not the only war-hero in Gryffindor; it divided the attention a lot.

How had life turned out like this?

Harry remembered all the decisions he had made, some were better some were worse. It should not be so hard to figure out, how his life had become what it was now. But then he remembered that just because it was his life didn't mean it was all about his choices. There had been Tom Riddles choice to go and kill his parents. There was Severus Snape's choice to love his mother for all his life, so that Snape had spent his life protecting him, Lily's son. No, not just him, him and Draco. There was a story between Snape and Draco too, he was sure about it, but that would be yet again a story he was not entitled too.

The more he thought about it, the more he came to realize that in his life there was so much going on that he didn't know about. Stuff he was likely to never know about.

Harry looked up, as he felt the sofa beside him dip.

"You seem to be in deep thought, Harry," Hermione said in a very soft voice, while he just looked at her; looked at how she radiated happiness and contentment.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked and turned to him, bending her knee, so that her front was facing him.

"I was wondering about life, about stories, about choices," he answered sounding a little lost to his own ears.

"That sounds rather difficult to think about. What's bothering you about life and choices?" she asked, in her usual way of helping and trying to understand.

"Do you have a plan for when this is over? When we need to go out into the real world once more? I mean at the moment Hogwarts, this year, it's just like living in a bubble. And it will burst like a bubble... there is a future out there that I never really thought about. How do you go on after all that happened?" Harry said rather quietly and leaned back, put his head on the backrest, but still looking her in the eyes..

"Well, you know I have a plan, you know I want things to change and for that I need to work with the Ministry. Change from within is the only change that really matters. And then there is Ron too, you know how I feel about him. Besides I don't think anyone will ever understand me like he does, even if he only pretends to listen to me, when I talk about stuff that bores him," she smiled, before her eyes turned serious once more: "But he understands what really matters. Why I sometimes have nightmares. Why some things are so important to me, when they make no sense to anybody else," she went on, before a deep red blush settled in her face. "I was rambling... but you are right, this is like living in a bubble. However it is more, it is our second chance for a good education. NEWTs are important in the wizard society. So this is a step towards the real world," she finally answered his questions. "There is more, isn't it?" she asked, her voice already stating that she knew the answer. "What's changed since last week? You've been brooding ever since you stormed in and went right into hiding in your bed that night," she said, and laid her hand on his thigh, never breaking eye contact. He knew she was not talking about how Cornilia had come back from the pitch and like a real snake which was angered, started to not only vent her anger about how he had treated her, but also spread various rumours, some of them very nasty. Not that he really cared about her, or her opinion of him.

"It was brought to my attention that the way I am living now, and with no plan in sight, I have set myself up for self-destruction," Harry said and rolled his eyes at his own words. Even the thought of Malfoy brought the inner prick out of him. He even sounded different when he talked about him.

"Do I want to know who has brought this to your attention?" she inquired and raised her eyebrow slightly.

"That's not the point... the point is... do you think it's true? Am I setting myself up to self-destruct?" He opened his eyes and looked at her once more.

"Well, I mean, it's your first school year without immediate danger hanging over you. So it's like your first break since you started school. And growing up, being at the centre of a war... and after all that happened it is understandable," she said, but looked at her own hands, and not at him.

"I can hear the _but_ that is hanging there, you know. So out with it," he smiled lamely, nudged her foot with his.

"It's just. See Harry, I understand you need a break, it's just... this is a very important time. It's... you know the NEWTs you get now, will determine your future, decide about things you can do or things you can't do. This is what I would say to anyone else, but you will be able to do whatever you want. You are the Hero, The One Who Killed The Dark Lord. Most people expect you to become an Auror, but if you really don't want to, you can be everything else," she said, becoming quieter with each sentence.

"The problem is that I have to know what I want. I need a plan," he sighted and dragged his fingers through his unruly mop. Damn, somehow that rankled. How could a man, a boy really, like Draco who had nothing figured out for himself, have figured out what Harry was doing wrong in his life.

"I'm heading to bed.. I think I need to work on a plan for once. I mean for the future... it's a damn long time, isn't it," he sighed and got up, kissing Hermione on her forehead. "Thanks, for everything," he whispered to her, and walked silently to the dorm.

As he lay in his bed he sighed again. A plan. A goal, something he waned to do.

He shook his head slightly as he saw gray eyes blazing with hatred in his mind, short, silky blond hair falling over them. He knew that the blond was hot... The man had just so much composure, determination. It was irritating and enchanting.

But then the image changed, and he saw Draco again. Someone who Harry only met once before, and that had not ended well. A boy who had survived the worst, only to find himself in circumstances no better than during the war. Harry could not understand why Draco did go on.

It was obvious that the blond had reached the end of the rope, so why did he still try so hard?

Harry had observed Malfoy with the map, in the classes they shared, and in the past week also with the help of his cloak. Harry had been rather impressed when he saw Malfoy use some of the secret passages, he himself would have never found without the map. Harry also knew, from watching the blond, that he spent most of this time in the lavatory with Myrtle and the rest of it in the library. Malfoy studied ridiculously hard. Could he really believe that good NEWTs would help his name and his family history?

 _"You can go back to your Muggle way of living, but I cannot"_ echoed Malfoys voice in his mind.

No, Draco had no illusions about his place in this new world, after the war, but he had simply nowhere else to go, so he moved on.

Why did that make Harry envy the stupid git? Draco had nothing compared to him.

No options, no respect from anyone, and most of all probably no hope left.

Harry himself had all the options, the respect of the whole wizard world, and his future was set out to be bright. It was frightening. How could Harry even begin to figure out what he wanted? Never before had it mattered what he wanted.

He was sure Malfoy would know how to proceed. Most certainly the git had been raised with decisions to make right, left, and centre: What he would wear out of his big wardrobe with a thousand different styles, what he would eat from the huge buffet served by houseelves, which room in the fucking Manor he would like to live in for the week, and which kid to grant the opportunity to spent time with him. Born in a rich, powerful pure-blood family, with a father, who had fixed everything to his sons likings and a mother, who would fuss over each step he made.

The thought alone made Harry sick with anger. And a raw envy settled in his stomach.

He sighed again, tried to breathe evenly. He knew none of it was true, and even if it was, since the summer of fifth year the life of the Malfoy's had changed, just like his. And Draco would bear the mark of his family's decisions for the rest of his life.

Harry's fingers gazed over his own scar.

 _"But he understands what really matters, why I sometimes have nightmares, why some things are so important to me, when they make no sense to anybody else,"_ he remembered Hermione's words from earlier that evening.

Harry did too. He did not know how or why but he did understand. And he had seen Draco. And Draco was in dire need of a break. And Harry had the option to make it happen.

In his mind a plan started to take shape. Not a big life plan, but a plan nonetheless.

This list of goals was rather short, but it had come so easily to him:

First: The taunting had to stop. Malfoy was very proud, and Harry couldn't imagine that the jokes were not hurting him.

Second: The hexing. It would be harder to stop, because not all the students had the guts to say something when Harry was in earshot, but nearly all of them had thrown one hex or the other at him.

Third: The violence. This point also required some investigation. Because Harry was not sure if the bruises he had seen, in Draco's face, were all that new. They could also be badly healed, due to Malfoy's malnutrition.

Forth: Sprout! Most of the teachers treated Draco no different or ignored him. McGonagall was an example for the first group, Slughurn for the last. Sprout, contrary to the famous Hufflepuff nature, was rather vicious when it came to Draco. She always made mean side comments, took unnecessary points from him, and it could always be heard rather well when she talked to him about his homework. As Harry thought about it, it became obvious that this was more of a subitem to the first point, but he listed it alone, because he was not sure how to really go about it.

He did not know why when it came to Draco Malfoy he always found it easy to say what he wanted: Be better than him; find out what he knew; make him pay for what he did; mock him, like he had mocked Harry's best friend; find out what he was up to; save him from the horrifying, deathly flames. save him from the backslash of what they all had been through.

Harry could not say, why he had come from hating Malfoy with all his passion to wanting to save Draco. All that he knew was that whenever the blond was involved it became effortless to have an objective.

He had realized that part of this was due to the fact that Malfoy was a very easy distraction from his other problems, from all the things he couldn't figure out, or had no influence over. But that did not explain the urge to save the pure-blood-brat. That line of thought just led to more headache. It was better if he could think about achieving the goals he had listed.

The first one was easy. Harry as the hero was sure that if he talked to some of the big mouths and made it known that he didn't like the animosity of the war continuing it would change. At least then he would feel like all the fame was good for something.

The next things on his list would hopefully be taken care of by putting a stop to the mocking. Maybe if he could protect Malfoy on a few occasions, make it clear, that he did not see the blond as his enemy and also show that he would stand up for him. Yes, he thought that might actually work. It was an easy plan, but then again, the easy plans usually worked best, because there were not so many things that could go wrong.

That still left him with no solution concerning Sprout.

Sprout, who was making a huge fuss over Harry every chance she got, and had teamed him up with Neville so he was unable to fail. To her Malfoy was the Death Eater, the evil bastard, and Harry was the hero, the saviour, the one who made it all good.

Harry bit his lip and opened his eyes. That was the flaw in this picture. Even if he had just planned it himself. The mere thought of using his fame, of stepping out there and being the hero- he was not- made his skin crawl. He wouldn't be able to do that, not even for the broken boy he saw last week.

No, he needed a different approach. How could he achieve the goals without being a hero?

What would feel normal to him would be the direct way. He would just stick to Draco until people got the message. But he would bet his wand that Draco would not make it so easy for him. Also somehow this felt wrong. There was so much history between Malfoy and him. They couldn't just pretend they were best mates. It would discredit both their lives.

He sighed. What felt natural to him, was also a very Gryffindor thing to do, but being a Gryffindor had never helped him when it came to Malfoy. In fact, it had led to one of the worst memories he had. Because like a true Gryffindor he had used a spell he knew nothing about.

Of course he could use the Slytherin method, it was not as natural to him, as the Gryffindor one, but he also knew how that method would be put into place: He would go to Slughorn, tell him, that he still had some problems with potions. Then he could drop that maybe it would help him, if he had an advanced partner. And seeing as Malfoy had none, he could easily team up with him. He was sure Slughorn would not say a word against it. For one, he was once again barely mediocre at potions, and also because Slughorn didn't deny Harry anything.

But that also didn't feel right. It felt like he would invade Malfoy's space. It wouldn't give Malfoy the option to choose. And why that was suddenly important was another mystery to Harry. He groaned and sat up. Harry dragged his hands through his hair. He'd go for a walk, and afterwards he wanted to go to bed and sleep. And maybe tomorrow he'd find a solution.

The next morning, he was on his way to pick up Hermione from her Ancient Runes class, when he saw Malfoy run past him and the stairs Harry was coming up, and vanished around the next corner. It was such an unusual sight that it shocked Harry. He looked around, but couldn't see anyone, who appeared to be perusing the blond. But Malfoy's face was so... so scared and vulnerable.

As he finally reached the Ancient Runes classroom, the students were beginning to step out, because the class had ended.

"Why do you look so puzzled?" Hermione asked as she came up to him, and drag him to the library for research about their Transfiguration homework.

"Did something happen to Malfoy?" he asked instead of answering.

"He was called, but of course he knew all the answers, and his translation had even a view I didn't think about. Sometimes it irks me, that he is so bloody intelligent," she huffed, and Harry laughed.

"Well, you are still considered the brightest witch of our age, and without him, there would be no one around to keep you on your toes," he joked, and pushed her playfully. However his mind pondered Hermione's words. So he was called upon, but since he knew the answer that couldn't be a reason to go running. Something must have happened that Hermione had missed, because her nose was stuck in her book. That's why he was the best, when it came to Malfoy- observation, Harry would never miss anything important.

"You might be right, and... if it weren't him, I mean... you know he grew up in this world. There is still so much knowledge in the wizard world , which was never written down, like wizard lore and traditions, and Ron doesn't care about such stuff, neither do his brothers... Imagine I could ask him, and he would tell me. Me, a Muggle-born," she shook her head and sighed. Typical Hermione Harry laughed.

"Did you ask him? As you said, he grew up here, and it's his history and lore, maybe he would like to talk about that?" Harry said, and his eyes widened. Maybe he should take his own advice? He had never spoken to Malfoy. They had that near conversation-thing last week, but it was not talking. It was more like fighting, just without punching and short of hexing. But they had never had a real conversation. It was time to change that.

**Chapter 7: The snake with the lion-heart**

The relief as his breath become steady again, flooded him. Draco felt it with each drop of blood. Each tiny red line on his pale skin was blessed relief. He felt how the anxiety he felt left him too. It was such a simply thing, really, but the effect it had on him was astonishing.

Draco had even built his own ritual around it: He sat down beneath the window, like the first time he ever had done this. He would take out his knife, and lay it on his white, silk handkerchief. Then he would remove his outer robe, before he rolled up his sleeve exactly six times. Like this it would settle above his elbow and would be in no danger of getting stained. He would then reach for the knife, roll it in his left hand, move it against his right index finger before he make the first cut.

The ritual had become necessary. If he was to nervous he would not only make a mess, but it would not calm him. The mess would make him anxious and scared of someone finding out. If it were not for his mother and her _cleaning_ charms, he would never have been able to get rid of all the blood in his cloths, the one time, everything had gone wrong. But with the ritual he reached a peaceful frame of mind. One that took him to a place, where he could regain his breath again, he would be again the one in control again.

By now it was nearly a daily occurrence, and as with everything that he did, Draco wanted to be precise. He limited himself to doing it no more than twice a day, The second time was only in cases when he really could not breathe anymore, when he was drowning.

Today was different.

Today was the last Friday before Christmas. Today was the day of another Yule-ball. It was out of tradition, but as the Headmistress had said: "We will be celebrating peace, we will remember those we have lost. We will also be celebrating life, and laugh in joy with our new acquaintances as well as our longest, and dearest friends. We will celebrate that we are still alive, Mr. Malfoy" At least those were the words she had said to him, after the Transfiguration class, when she made him stay back. He had looked at her with unbelieving eyes. But no word of protest had escaped his mouth. At that moment he still thought he would just not attend anyway because his life was not anything to celebrate these days. However the Headmistress had different things in mind. "I remember you were an excellent dancer in your forth year, but then so were also your parents." Draco had not known what to say to that comment. Since the trials no one had spoken about his parents. It was like Lucius Malfoy had become a name one was not to speak of. Not because of fear; rather Lucius was a stain in their memories, a shame the Wizarding World could not blot out and as such they avoided all record of him, as if he were a plague.

"You will be the student to dance with me the opening dance, Mister Malfoy. As the Headmistress it is my privilege to choose, and since it will be my first dance in this position I would rather not worry about the steps but enjoy it in grace," she had said and Draco could feel time slowing down, as his heart had started to speed up. The Opening dance of the ball. Everybody would be there, would see him.

However he had also understood all the other implications very fast: It would do the Malfoy-name some good. His mother clearly would welcome such an opportunity. And he was his mother's son, his father's heir, the next Malfoy patriarch, he had a duty to his family, no matter how frightening it would be.

"It would be a great honour, Headmistress," he said in a steady and very polite voice. Aiming to please as he had learned as a child.

"Thank you, you may go now. I will let you know the details, when everything is decided," she said and stepped away.

Ever since that scene he was living torn between fear and anticipation of the ball. And now that it was here, he had the feeling that he was not up to it, anymore. No matter how often Draco told himself that it was only one dance, that his mother would be surly pleased, and that he would be fine, the pressure did not lessen. That was the reason why he was sitting here for the fourth time this day. He had to be in the Entry Hall in twenty minutes, and then he had to be the perfect wizard. And a small part of him did enjoy this prospect. Draco Malfoy was raised to be the perfect wizard after all.

But the panic did not lessen and he had to make it go away, at least for the first dance. It would be roughly eight minutes of English Waltz, and then he could go into hiding once more.

Draco could dance the waltz without mistake since he was six. He would be fine. He only had to believe it.

He dragged his thoughts away from the dance, and focused once more on his blood, the pattern that covered his arm. The more he focused the calmer he got. His blood, his essence, it had covered the floor of this room. Maybe that was why he felt so safe here, this room was marked by his blood. His blood was more, it was magic, it was noble and ancient, _pure_. Draco did not know what he thought about all those words, because he knew their meaning had changed. Nevertheless the sight of his blood was still intoxicating to him. He was connected to generations of Malfoys by his blood, and he had to do right by them. And he would!

Draco took one last calming breath before wiping the blood away with the handkerchief, and it disappeared within the delicate spellwork of the expensive silk.

He rolled his sleeve down and closed his cufflinks. Another deep breath, then he stood up.

With the calm that had settled over him Draco put on his robe, spelled everything clean and prim before he added his usual spells to hide his state.

Draco arrived in the Entry Hall in time to see the all the other members of the staff with different students waiting. It became clear from the noise that the students were already enjoying the atmosphere in the Great Hall. The teachers would open the Ball, as a student, it would be fun to watch, not that Draco would have a chance to.

As the Headmistress came straight up to Draco, he could hear some whispering, but he could not focus on it and that was probably for the better. Because when he would enter the Great Hall with McGonagall the whispers would be louder. He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him weak, and so he ignored the buzzing of their voices, as he focused on the Headmistress.

"Mister Malfoy," she greeted him, and he held out his arm for her to take. Impeccable manners in place. "Headmistress, it is my pleasure," he said and bowed his head.

"Let us walk in and open this ball, before people start to starve," she said lightly and still in her usual stiff voice, and the doors opened for them.

Draco leaned heavy on the sink, his hands were shaking, his feet felt numb and he couldn't breathe. He needed to breathe, he was going to pass out, but air was just not getting into his lungs. He must calm down, had to focus on breathing. But it was not helping, nothing was helping, and he could not reach for the knife because his fingers did not move. And it would not help anyway. His mind was to occupied and he would only end up creating a big mess. He heard the sound of his breathing grow shallow. Myrtle was saying something but he could only shake his head. He could not make out a single thing she was saying.

It had just been so much. The dance had been smooth and he had kept his cool; that much he was aware off, but then he had started to get dizzy, as more and more people had joined them on the dance floor. And afterwards he had not been able to get away, as people started to move around.

The rest was covered in the blackness of his panic, until he had found himself staring in this mirror again. His magic almost completely drained as his face slowly turn paler. This was worse than his usual panic attacks, because this time he felt like he was dying. And all he could think about was how disapproving his mother would be.

Suddenly though the dizziness he felt someone reach for him, pulling him to the floor, the intruder's chest to Draco's back. It made Draco seize up even more. Someone was touching him, holding him, he could no longer move and he could not get away.

And then he was being rocked gently while strong hands covered his.

It felt so good; Draco did not realize that tears started to slip down his cheeks and drip of his jaw.

Ever so slowly he could feel the pressure that gripped his chest ease, and greedily he started to gulp air in. Unconsciously he relaxed against the stranger. At the moment Draco did not care one bit about who it was that held him so securely. Just breathing, with his eyes closed, while still being rocked softly.

"...alright... safe... breathe," he started to hear the deep but soft voice, over his loud heartbeat. Repeating the same words over and over again: "It's alright. You are safe. Just breathe." Draco did as he was told, kept his eyes shut and breathed, waited for the dizziness to subside.

He could feel himself shaking in the arms of the unknown man behind him, but at the moment he had no strength left to care. He just focused on the soft words; that was enough.

Draco had no concept of time, but the next time he opened his eyes, he could see, he could hear the outer world, not just his pounding heart, and he was no longer shaking. He tried to sit up straight again, so that he could get up and away from whomever had helped him. He was not sure he wanted to know who the stranger was, or why he had been saved.

"You really need to rethink what you are doing, stupid git," was spoken ever so softly, but the arms tightened around him.

Well, that made the stranger a not- stranger. It was not only the words and the voice, he could also finally assign the persons smell, an earthy aroma that the other brought into the lavatory.

"Potter, why are you here?" he asked, not daring to move. Why, why again in this room? Why again with Potter?

"I'm here because someone I know went ahead and did something very daft- again- and it was obvious to me, that said someone didn't do the thinking trough he himself proclaimed he always did," Potter answered him with a gentle tone, but there was a joke there, and an insult, Draco was sure of it.

He bristled. "Against your judgement, I thought this through. This was for my family name. Tomorrow when my mother opens the paper and sees me dancing with the Headmistress, she will be very proud, and it will give her hope to carry on. So don't tell me I did not think it through. I did! It was the right decision for my family," Draco huffed and tried to get away, but Potter was so strong It felt as if he only managed to squirm closer to that herculean brat.

"Really? So, how does you passing out, because of a panic attack help your family?" Potter dared to ask in a mocking tone.

"Merlin help me! I was trying to calm down- and anyway what do you know about it. Your heroism clearly does not give you authority to judge. So you are invading my private space. Let me go!" Draco demanded in the most authoritve voice he could muster. Not that this was up to his usual standard at all, but he tried his best.

"No," Potter said and it sounded to Draco like he was laughing.

"No?" he repeated with incredulity. He wanted to get away!

"No. And don't even try. At the moment you are really no match for me," Potter said, and the words stung Draco's pride.

"I was never really a match for you anyway. The boy that could do no wrong, even if he was breaking all the rules- who could be a match for that?" Draco sounded defeated. Why did it have to be Potter? Why not someone else? Why was he so obsessed with the Gryffindor super-hero?

"Just so you know, I did plenty of wrong, and not all of my decisions worked out in the end," Potter said after a few long moments, "and you were a very good match for me. Not only in the sky, but also on the ground. You kept me on my toes, gave me something to think about," the last words appeared to be chuckled and Draco really did not want to be mocked right now.

"Please, let me go. I am alright now, you saved me, I owe you one more life debt or whatsoever... just let me go," his voice sounded so broken, and somehow Draco had to fight tears for a whole new reason. Being broken, defeated, laid bare in front of the one person you really did not want to see you broken was beyond humiliating. All Draco really wanted to do, was to curl up and hide forever.

"You know, you really make it impossible for me to talk to you. I tried and tried these past few days, and all you ever did was give me short answers and then you went away. I mean, of course your answers were correct and very helpful, but chatting is made impossible with your disappearance," Potter said, and Draco could not decide if it sounded honest or amusing. There was something more here, that he had no knowledge of, he was sure.

And to the point when had Potter tried to talk to him?

He vaguely remembered the brat coming to him in the library, asking a stupid question about a potion or something. All he really knew in that moment, was how hushed the usually quiet place had become and the feeling of stares he did not enjoy. He had answered one thing or another, and packed his books to leave the room. He recognized that moment as the first time, that he had broken his own rule, after he had found his way back here. But he had been all nerves, chaos, and ants beneath his skin.

Slowly he worked himself through his memories since that incident, and truly, he had called it bad luck, or twist of fate, because some of the incidents had been really stressful for him, because of course everyone would look at Potter speaking to him.

"And my disappearance did not make it clear to you that I might not wish to talk to you? As I recall it is a very obvious sign when someone walks away from you. Proper conduct would indicate that you ought to leave me alone," Draco said in the sharpest tone he could muster and tried to get away again.

"I don't know about proper conduct. You must excuse my Muggle family, but they weren't really concerned with my upbringing," Potter snorted and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Potter, I am losing my patience. What is it that you want from me?" he asked sounding really irritated now, but then again he _was_ irritated. Why did that git not get it and left him alone?

"That's the big question, isn't it?" Potter mumbled and sounded miles away. "First I think we should have dinner in the kitchen. I am hungry, and honestly you must be starving," Potter decided for Draco and himself. Draco could not believe Potter's theatrical posturing. He would not just do whatever the Gryffindor decided. Why would he?

"I am not going to have dinner with you! What a ludicrous idea is that? We are not friends, we do not share dinner. You will let me get up, then get up yourself and leave the room to do whatever you see fit to do, and I will do what I see fit to do. And please stop talking to me," Draco tried to regain his composure.

In the end, Draco reasoned for himself, it would not help him to be embarrassed that Potter helped to get him through his panic. The git would still be around, and Draco would still have to deal with him in one way or another. So the best way out of this awkward situation was to act like it had never happened. It was all about pretence for him anyway. So, he concluded, it would be just one more thing he would ignore.

"You asked me what I wanted, and I told you. So you are going to have dinner with me, or we will be sitting here until you decide to have dinner with me. Make up your mind," Potter said in an unimpressed voice and Draco grid his teeth.

"Have you completely lost the plot! And what sort of choice is that? Have dinner with you now or decide to have dinner with you in a few hours? That is no choice that is blackmail. What is wrong with you? I mean I get the bad boy attitude, and if you want to ruin everything you can have, please go ahead and be my guest. But do it where I do not have to witness, or where it would have no impact on my life, if it is all the same to you," Draco said and finally was able to get away from Potter, so that he could look at the brat.

"It's not all..:"

"You are not even dressed..."

"...all the same to me. That's what...."

"... for the ball. Or are you really so insane to..."

"...I've been trying to tell you for..."

"....attend the Yule Ball in jeans..."

"....the last ten days at least. You were right..."

"...and a lumpy pullover. Wait? What are you saying?"

"...and it did me some good to hear the truth finally. What are you talking about?"

"I am pointing out your lack of formal attire at the night of the Yule Ball. And even if I think I only understood about the half of what you were saying, I would like to state, that I am rarely wrong," Draco let his mouth run on before he remembered, who he was talking to. He was usually wrong when it came to Potter; from the big decisions, which really mattered, down to the inane ones. When Potter was involved he could do nothing right.

"Of course I'm not formally dressed. I didn't plan on attending that horrid ball," Potter rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"It was a celebration for peace. I had to attend," Draco tried to hold his temper, but he could feel he was beginning to fail.

"Yeah, well now that you have made a big entry I don't think you have to go back there. Everyone has seen you, and I am sure, the press will talk about your dance with McGonagall in every way imaginable," Potter said sounding utterly condescending. It made the hairs in Dracos neck stand up.

"Potter, get out, or I will hex you," Draco said and stood up. His knees still felt shaky, but he did not back down. This was insane. Potter should not be talking to him; they should be avoiding each other, like they had done for the last months.

"I am grateful for your help. It was not what I wished for, but you really helped me, now please leave me alone again. You and I will always be on the opposite side. And I really cannot afford to hex you or harm you in any way," Draco said in a forced calm tone, he had learned from his father.

Potter stayed silent again, and Draco tried to breathe deeply.

"If you do not wish to go..." Draco started to say and straightened his clothing, when Potter started to speak again.

"You're impossible. Really, we will not have this discussion. You will go and eat with me, and we will talk like civilised grown-ups. Now kindly shut up, and lend me a hand, I think my foot fell asleep," the Gryffindor commented and Draco was stunned. Otherwise there was no explanation for his helping Potter up. There was no anger left in him, all that he felt was tiredness.

"Come on, kitchen's that way," Potter said and just dragged him away.

Potter had clearly lost his mind, and somehow it must have been Draco's fault, because he was forced to endure it.

"Alright Potter. I will humour you and have dinner with you, but under protest and because you not only blackmailed me, but also dragged me there. And you better make me not regret it later," he barked at Potters back, as they went around some hidden hallways, before they reached a tapestry. And while Draco looked around Potter got it to open up with some miraculous thing. He never had been to the kitchen and a small part of him found this very exciting.

"Don't worry, Malfoy. I'll make it worth your while," Potter joked and sat down at the huge table. Draco could not stop watching the hundreds of houseelves that where rummaging in the kitchen. With the ball in full swing, it must be a rather busy time for them, and still he saw some of them hurry over to help Potter. However Draco did not find it in him to really mind, since it would get him something to eat too.

"Here for you," Potter put a plate of chicken and ham pie in front of Draco.

"But your favourite is roast beef," Draco said without thinking.

"And yours is chicken and ham pie. Which is really plebeian food, as far as I am to understand," Potter joked, and Draco had to roll his eyes.

"It was not really served often, but I had eaten it before I came to school," he rebuffed automatically. They did not need to talk about why and how they knew about each other's favourite food. It was something they just knew about each other, like many other little details.

"What was it really like, growing up in Malfoy Manor?" Potter asked and his voice was deep and very serious. Draco looked at him, looked at his profile. It was a strange question to ask, but Potter really seemed to want to know about how he grew up. Draco could not understand why, but something has shifted once more between them, so he answered honestly: "When I was little, I got lost once. I cried so hard, because the more I tried to find my way back, the more I got lost. It was my... father who found me. He picked me up, and said: "The next time you get lost, Draco, just concentrate on finding me, and you will find your way. As my son, you will always be able to find me, in our home." And it was true. I got lost a few times after that, but then I would just try and go and find him, and the Manor showed me the way. Even as I grew older, sometimes I humoured the wards, and just felt the pull. It was comforting... until those wards were pulled down," he told Potter. He tried to push the dark memories away, tried to think about the happy times. "And my mother, she would decorate the rooms with flowers, and charms and everywhere she went her scent would linger. And in winter, when you entered her favourite sunroom, the sparkles of the snow would be reflected in the room. I liked it best, when we all were in that room, my father would read a book, my mother would do some embroidery and I would either play or read. It was the feeling of belonging. We would talk about inane things, and in that room, we were a family," Draco said lost in his own memories. Those had been the easy and happy days. He treasured these memories very much, but it was not the whole story, it was not even half of the story. At best it was the beginning of what would turn out to be a very pressured life, that he was not sure if he could handle anymore.

"And then I grew up. I had my first tutor at the age of six and was sent to a preschool for pure-bloods at the age of seven. I learned about rules, expectations, proper code of conduct. I know how most of the others envied me. It is true, I had it all, but like everything it came at a price. There were rules, and neither of my parents liked to be disappointed", Draco said, and looked at his pie. He had not wanted to share that. This would have been the moment to make Potter envy him. As he looked up and into Potter's curious eyes, he knew why he had said it. Between them, there was a strange code of honour.

And honour demanded honesty.

**Chapter 8: The Lion in the snakes den**

Harry was flooded with the noises of at least fifty different conversations, as he stepped into the school, coming back from his now daily flight around the pitch. It was chaos, but as far as Harry could tell something good or exciting must have happened. Especially a group of Hufflepuff girls gave that impression, with them jumping in place and giggling, while talking in high voices. He looked around and tried to find someone he knew so he could find out what had happened. Harry could not help himself, that there was exciting news, in which he did not take any part, was refreshing, and exhilarating. Along with the high he had from his flight, this day seemed as it would end in a wonderful manner.

"Harry, have you heard?" sounded Hermione's voice next to him. "No, not yet, I just came in from flying and everybody was behaving like homework has been canceled," he answered and looked around once more, and yes all the others were still in high spirits about whatever news they had heard.

"McGonagall announced during dinner that next Friday Hogwarts will be hosting a Yule Ball, to celebrate peace and life," Hermione told him. Harry could feel his jaw drop, as he slowly moved his head to look at Hermione: "What?" he asked in a disbelieving voice.

"Well, I think it's a good idea, you know. Many of the students are still struggling with all the memories and the losses and the war, and it would be good experience before we go home for Christmas. You know, something to tell the families about," she said and looked around.

"I won't attend that, you're aware?" Harry stated before she could say anything more. He had enough of being dragged around from Ministry functions to after war parties.

Harry had attended the funerals out of his free will, because he wanted to remember the sacrifices others had made for this peace. The trials had been a different story. He knew too well, how easy politics could fall on their principals. So, Harry attended them, to make sure they were about justice, not revenge.

But the functions, parties and balls, had been insane. He had to make big speeches, be on his best behavior and make grownups see that not only was there a future and hope, but also that in this future there had to be forgiveness. And after this war, forgiveness was a very sensitive topic. Harry often felt not only embarrassed but also obtuse, even if he knew he was right.

"McGonagall doesn't want you to hold a speech; it would be just us, enjoying the food, a little dancing maybe. I mean if you like to. It would be fun," Hermione said, with only a little bit of pleading in her voice. Harry had the very strong urge to roll his eyes at his friend, but he forced himself to hold back.

"Hermione, I don't wanna go, and I won't go. And I really don't like dancing. Some can move, others can't. I'm in the can't-group. Besides, if I go, it would only ruin the effort, because all that would be printed the day after, would be about who I danced with, and what I ate and wore. So really, me not going will make this ball better," Harry defended his decision.

Hermione hmpfed and took a look around. "Well, seems you have your mind all made up," she finally said. Harry knew this was not over so easily, but he was grateful for her not going on.

"Are you going back to the tower?" she asked finally.

"Yeah, I need a quick shower, and then I want to go to the library McG didn't like my last essays and to be honest, I think I didn't really understand the whole concept of animate-inanimate transfiguration. So I better go and hit those books, you wrote up for me," he said easily.

"That's good. And really it's not that hard, but its a key aspect to transfiguration and our NEWT, so you really should understand all the principles behind it," she said in a mixture of understanding and proud sounding voice, and this time Harry did roll his eyes. Some things would never change.

Nearly twenty minutes later Harry entered the library. If he wanted to talk to Malfoy, he had figured out that the library and other common places would be the best choice. So he had set his undertaking to talk to Malfoy in motion. He had started with small questions during classes, when he managed to sit next to the Slytherin. Truth to be told, he did not manage that specific seating very often, because of his friends. And if he'd sit down to early, Malfoy would sit somewhere else. With the small number of 8th year return students, Malfoy had plenty of seats to choose from. This was point one on his list of "frustration creating circumstances during times of tried contact with Draco Malfoy". Point two was the short answers he got for his questions and point three was the fact that Malfoy was still happily ignoring him most of the time.

Harry walked through the library going straight to the Ancient Runes section. Malfoy would sit in the aisle of the reference tomes. Harry himself could never figure out, what exactly the books were referencing too, but he was sure it was not to English, because that he would at least have been able to read in the title. And some of them were not even written in Latin alphabet. Harry privately thought that had to be the reason why very, very seldom students would bother to get a book from these shelves.

However this made it easy to find Malfoy nowadays, because he'd undoubtedly hide there, and so would be easy to find.

Now the only problem was getting Malfoy to stay and not walk out on him; and stopping the library to turn into a whispering and murmuring hall. Harry was mostly used to the hushed voices, but the louder the quiet voices got the faster Malfoy would walk away from him.

He debated with himself if this could also turn into a point onto his frustration-list. He debated about this point in particular because he had the feeling that in reality it had nothing to do with him, but with Malfoy himself.

Malfoy really got uncomfortable when he was around people. It got even worse, when he would be forced to talk.

Harry had had his suspicions about this for quite some time, but the confirmation only happened when he started looking for it. Malfoy would start to tremble, ever so slightly, he'd clench his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white and his hands would turn red. No matter how much Malfoy liked to have people gush over him in the past, in the present their attention made Malfoy more than just uncomfortable.

Harry hated to see that. It was like watching proud free born snakes in the zoo, giving in to their fate. He hated it when he met such snakes and he hated the way Malfoy gave in, and behaved that way. It was fundamentally wrong. And Harry would change this situation!

As Malfoy's usual table came into view, Harry could see, that Malfoy was already stacking up his books again, a clear sign that he would soon leave the library. Inwardly Harry cursed, of course Malfoy would leave soon, other students besides Harry started already to come back, to work on their homework too. With the delay in the great hall, and the long shower, because Harry had not noticed how cold the air had gotten in the last weeks, he was later than usual.

On the other hand, Harry was not sure if the outcome would really have been any different if he would've managed to come earlier.

"Malfoy," he nodded at the other boy and sat down on the far end of the table.

Malfoy looked over to him and his eyes narrowed, but then the blond concentrated once more on his books.

'Well,' Harry thought, 'this had been more reaction than the first few attempts, maybe Malfoy found out what I am trying to do?' Harry pondered that thought for some minutes, before he returned his attention back to his homework. Inwardly Harry wished he had lied to Hermione and knew already what there was to know about animate to inanimate transfiguration. He simply had no clue why he found this so hard.

"Malfoy, I saw you transfigure that bunny McGonagall gave you in class, and it was still alive afterwards. How'd you do that? My beetles have no such luck," he asked quietly.

Malfoy looked at him again, then down on the books Harry had brought for research. Did the blond just roll his eyes? Today must be his lucky day!

"Transfiguring something alive to something dead is not the reverse of the principle of transfiguring something dead to something alive. It is no wonder your beetles die," Malfoy answered in his posh voice. 'Progress,' was all Harry could think, because his by now usual conversation starting potions questions were just answered in the fashion of the name of the author, the title of the books and the pages he may want to look at. It was all helpful information, but never did Malfoy state so bluntly that he was doing something wrong.

"Why not? It's the same thing, just in reverse. How can it be so different?" Harry asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

"Potter! It is clearly not," Malfoy gasped and really looked as if that statement shocked him. "When you transfigure something dead to something alive, you give it life, you make it move and it obeys your will. When you forget to add the heart, it will die, but it will not care, because it was an object to begin with. An object does not have an understanding of life, nor past; no experiences outside of the state of the object and the magic that occurs with the object. In comparison the beetle existed before it was handed to you, and it has a past and a life outside of its state as your beetle. You want to keep it that way, so change your principle," Malfoy explained and Harry tried not to smile.

"But why would I use this transfiguration, if it is so dangerous to the animals? This seems too risky, if it goes wrong I could've killed my pet," he said instead of just accepting what Malfoy was saying. It was mostly for the sake of the argument, because he now clearly remembered McG saying something very similar.

"Because it is very useful. Think about traveling. With Muggles around some of our pets would be impossible to take with us for a journey, but if I can hide it in my pocket, and make it out to be a piece of paper or something equal inane, I can take my pet anywhere I want to, without trouble. Of course you might not want to try and transfigure something with a very powerful magic on its own, like a dragon for example, to hide it, because that would kill the poor animal, if you are able to transfigure it at all," Malfoy stood and started to pack his belongings away again.

"Ok, well that does sound useful, at least a little," Harry said and thought about how much easier it would have been for Hedwig if he could have transfigured her at a younger age.

"You might want to change your reading: Stonewall Romana, "Keeping the Object alive". Read the whole damn book!" Malfoy said and walked away.

Harry was only too pleased to count this meeting as his first success. There had been eye-rolling, a conversation, Malfoy had belittled him, if not in words, than with his tone, there had been a swear, and still at the end Harry had got pointed in the right direction, and now knew what he needed to read. He also had found out, with the last few encounters, that Malfoy gave him the easy books, that explained everything in a simple and understandable manner and Harry did not need two or three other books to reference what he was reading. It was a sharp contrast to Hermione's advice. It made Harry think about Crabbe and Goyle, and how Malfoy must have helped them. It was a saddening thought, because not only did it imply that Malfoy had looked out for his friends like Harry did, but also that it really must be hard for Malfoy to be on his own right now.

Harry sighed and pushed that thought away. Today had been a success and that was all he wanted to think about for the moment.

To Harry's annoyance he was not able to reproduce such a good outcome in any of the other encounters. Another point for his frustration list. Harry couldn't understand why Malfoy would want to make this so hard for him again. He had really believed that the conversation about transfiguration could have been a turning point for them. But it was obvious that the blond had a different opinion. Stupid git!

Harry also noticed that Malfoy was spending even more time in the lavatory with Myrtle the closer the day of the Yule-Ball came.

Sometimes Harry went there, and stood in front of the door. But he never dared to enter after the blond. It was not so much that he didn't want to enter, or that he was afraid of what had happened in there. What kept him outside was the knowledge that Draco believed himself safe behind this door. And Harry understood how important it was to have a place where you could feel safe. So he never entered the lavatory anymore, not even when he knew that Draco was in class.

At the night of the Yule Ball he watched as his roommates all started to dress themselves up. He listened to their talks about what they expected their dates to look like, what the food would be like, if there would or wouldn't be alcohol in the punch. In the case of Seamus it was how he would get the alcohol in the punch, no matter what. Harry just lay on his bed, his unfinished homework close to him, and also a stack of not quite finished Quidditch magazines. He planned to get all his tasks done now, so he could truly relax over the holidays, without the worry of unfinished homework.

He knew that this was rather unusual behaviour for him, but since he had not behaved even close to normal all year, really nobody seemed to pay it any mind.

"You sure you won't come party with us?" Neville asked one last time, as the others had already left the room.

"No thanks, mate, I'd just ruin all the effort everybody made," Harry smiled. "And besides, I'm still behind with all the homework I didn't do, so I should try this good schoolboy stuff for a little while longer, and get it all done," he said and made a flapping hand gesture: "Now go and have fun dancing. I remember you liked that part best at the last ball," he winked. Neville grinned sheepishly and then followed the others. Harry breathed the silence in, and he felt that he could finally relax.

In the end it took Harry less than ten minutes to start thinking about Malfoy and what the blond would be doing now. He even had made a list in his mind about possible locations for Malfoy during the Yule ball:

1\. Slytherin dorm

2\. Myrtles bathroom

3\. library

4\. on the far side of the Great Hall where no others would be.

Harry was sure, that such as himself Malfoy would enjoy this time alone. And well, if Malfoy would be somewhere where he could go too, they could spend the time together. Maybe finally having a chance at a decent conversation. It was the thought of being able to talk to Malfoy again, that made him pull out the map and look for Malfoy's dot.

Harry didn't think much about being unable to locate the git in the Slytherin dorm. Some of the other students were still there, so it wasn't really a surprise. The blond also wasn't in the lavatory. That was slightly odd, but then again Malfoy spent so much time there, it was no wonder, that he would need a change of scenery. Only when Harry was unable to find him anywhere else, did he turn the map to look at the Great Hall.

Harry could not believe his eyes. What was Malfoy trying to do?

The blond could barely talk in front of one class, why would he go and dance, with the Headmistress in front of the whole school, some reporters, some committee members and invited guests, who were mostly parents. What was Malfoy thinking?

As he was looking down onto the map again, he saw the blond's dot moving away from the Great Hall quickly.

Harry sighed. He really should leave it alone. He knew he should, but that did not mean that he could. It was against his very nature. So he put on his shoes and took one last look to where Malfoy was heading: The lavatory, not such a big surprise there.

Harry usually never doubted a decision when he made it. He came to regret it, to resent himself for the decision, but he never had questioned himself once he set his mind to it. Until now. It took him nearly twice as much time to reach the lavatory as it usually would. As he stood before the ominous door, he couldn't find it in himself to enter. Behind this door was Dracos space, and he felt like he was not allowed inside anymore. It was a stupid sentiment, he knew that much. To begin with it was a girls lavatory so really Malfoy had no business being in there either. Then there was the fact that in the lavatory lay the secret entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, not to mention that Hermione, Ron and he had used this very room as their base for the entire seconded year. So really he shouldn't hesitate to enter the room, if anything he had been in there first. However behind this door lay also the room where he nearly murdered someone out of spite. It was that memory that made this room to Malfoys room: It had been Malfoy's blood that had coloured the floor and Malfoy's life that had been at stake.

A loud shrieking noise from the inside put a halt to Harry's train of thought and then he could hear Myrtle screaming for help and also shouting at Draco apparently. It put an end to Harrys hesitation; he opened the door and rushed in.

He found Malfoy white as a sheet barely hanging on to the basin, trembling and apparently having trouble breathing. A panic attack, if Harry ever witnessed one, and it must be a very bad one. Thing was, Harry had no clue what to do. "Help him," Myrtle screamed at him, and he just looked at her for the time of a heartbeat. Instinct took over and he stepped up and put his arms around the shaking man.

"It's alright. You are safe here. Just try to breathe," Harry started saying, trying to calm Draco. He could feel that his touch only made Draco stiffen up more, which in consequence made it harder for Draco to breathe. So he laid his hand on Dracos and tried to loosen the iron grip of the frightened man. It was such a relief to hear the blond man breathe again. Softly he rocked Draco's body with his own, whilst trying to sit down with him, so that he boy in his arms could really relax.

"It's alright. You are safe. Just breathe," he said over and over again. He kept the sentences short, bare to important information for Draco. As Harry felt Draco relax in his arms, he was hit with a wave of relief himself. Draco was breathing again, and the shaking had come to a stop. The lean body showed no more signs of cramps. He did not know how, but it seemed that he had really managed to help Draco.

"You really need to rethink what you are doing, stupid git," he said fondly, just glad that it was over, and that Draco was safe.

"Potter, why are you here?" was thrown at him, and the blonds body tensed up once more. Really, Draco would never make anything easy for him, would he?

"I'm here because someone I know went ahead and did something very daft- again- and it was obvious to me, that said someone didn't do the thinking trough he himself proclaimed he always did," he answered Draco's question softly, trying to joke a little, since it usually was Draco pointing out all his wrong-doing's.

"Against your judgement, I thought this through. This was for my family name. Tomorrow when my mother opens the paper and sees me dancing with the Headmistress, she will be very proud, and it will give her hope to carry on. So don't tell me I did not think it through. I did! It was the right decision for my family," Draco said in a cutting voice and clearly trying to get away from Harry as fast as he could. Not that Harry would allow that, the man just came down from a panic attack, getting up now would do him no good.

"Really? So, how does your dying, because of panic attack help your family?" Harry said still in a soft voice, trying to understand what Draco was playing at. To him this seemed like a rather foolish stunt the blond had made.

"Merlin help me! I was trying to calm down- and anyway what do you know about it. Your heroism clearly does not give you authority to judge when I am passing out or not. So you are invading my private space. Let me go!" Draco exploded and started to fight to get away from him. Why Draco would want to start a fight now was unclear to Harry, but it was very clear to him, that Draco stood no chance at the moment.

"No," Harry answered simply and tried to hinder Draco on more unnecessary movement. The blond was just going to exhaust himself even further.

"No?" Draco shrieked and started to struggle against Harry even harder.

"No. And don't even try. At the moment you are really no match for me," he advised the blond trying to calm him down once more. Draco's body must hit his limits soon. He felt so thin in his arms, and Harry really feared he would break the Slytherin's ribs.

"I was never really a match for you anyway. The boy that could do no wrongs, even if he was breaking all the rules- who could be a match for that?" came the harsh comment from Malfoy, but at least he gave up trying to get away Ouch, that hurt, but a small victory still counted at least Harry was sure it did when Draco Malfoy was concerned.

"Just so you know, I did plenty of wrong, and not all of my decisions worked out in the end," he answered and had to fight the guilt that always started to overcome him, when he allowed himself to think about all the mistakes he made. If it had not been for him, he would still have a godfather, a family, and the man in his arms would not nearly have died on this very floor.

"And you were a very good match for me. Not only in the sky, but also on the ground. You kept me on my toes, gave me something to think about," he said as he remembered other things about Draco too. The only games of Quidditch that really made him concentrate were the ones when he was flying against Malfoy. No one else in this school had challenged him more than Malfoy.

"Please, let me go. I am alright now, you saved me, I owe you one more life debt or whatsoever... just let me go," Draco said and sounded ashamed. And while Harry understood the sentiment, he did not share it. They would always see each other at their worst. Maybe it was fate, maybe bad luck, maybe another prophecy both of them just knew nothing about, but at the same time they would also always bring out the best in each other. Harry didn't want for Draco to feel any more shame than the Slytherin obviously did already, but he wouldn't leave Draco now. Right now the need for assistance was more important than the individual pride. So Draco just would've to suck it up, and maybe Harry could help him with that.

"You know, you really make it impossible for me to talk to you. I tried and tried these past few days, and all you ever did was gave me short answers and then you went away. I mean, of course your answers were correct and very helpful, but chatting was made impossible with your disappearance," he confessed his secret. That was embarrassing for him too, so now they were the same again.

"And my disappearance did not make it clear to you that I might not wish to talk to you? As I recall it is a very obvious sign when someone walks away from you. Proper conduct would indicate that you ought to leave me alone," Draco's sharp tongue struck again. It made Harry grit his teeth. Why did he even try? And then he saw the tear tracks again, and the water still brimming in those silver eyes, and he knew why he was trying.

"I don't know about proper conduct. You must excuse my Muggle family, but they weren't really concerned with my upbringing," he joked about the time he had to spend at his aunt and uncle's house. By know the papers have printed every imaginable and unimaginable story about him and his family, so he was sure a joke about himself would not go amiss with Draco.

"Potter, I am losing my patience. What is it that you want from me?" Draco demanded in a gruffly, and Harry had to keep back a sigh. He had miscalculated Draco's temper. But it was not only Draco's tone but also that question again. It was a rather difficult one for Harry at the moment, because he hadn't even figured it out for himself.

"That's the big question, isn't it?" Harry said in a defeated and confused tone. If he just would have an easy answer to that question, he could plan on reaching that goal. But he did not have an answer to that question, and so he could only go by the moment.

"First, I think we should have dinner in the kitchen. I am hungry, and honestly you must be starving," he said simply. Food always was a good solution, and in Draco's case, food definitely would not go amiss.

"I am not going to have dinner with you! What a ludicrous idea is that? We are not friends, we do not share dinner. You will let me get up, then get up yourself and leave the room to do whatever you see fit to do, and I will do what I see fit to do. And please stop talking to me," Draco protested vehemently, just as Harry thought he would. Harry did not understand the specific reason, but at this point it probably was a habit for Draco to simply protest at everything Harry said.

"You asked me what I wanted, and I told you. So you are going to have dinner with me, or we will be sitting here until you decide to have dinner with me. Make up your mind," Harry stated and simply refused to oblige Draco. The boy was not only way too thin, but this also was an opportunity for Harry to try to get to know Draco better, have. He tried so hard the last days. Harry would not let this chance slip by.

"Have you completely lost the plot! And what sort of choice is that? Have dinner with you now or decide to have dinner with you in a few hours? That is no choice that is blackmail. What is wrong with you? I mean I get the bad boy attitude, and if you want to ruin everything you can have, please go ahead and be my guest. But do it where I do not have to witness, or where it would have no impact on my life, if it is all the same to you," Draco said outraged and clearly aiming to hurt, at least Harry felt that way. Harry could not blame Draco, since he was right in his accusations, but somehow it was still a very sharp insinuation, and it stung, so much, that he lost his grip on Draco and the blond moved away. He had to make Draco understand, even if his words would be flimsy.

"It's not at all..:"

"You are not even dressed..."

"...all the same to me. That's what...."

"... for the ball. Or are you really so insane to..."

"...I've been trying to tell you for..."

"....attend the Yule Ball in jeans..."

"....the last ten days at least. You were right..."

"...and a lumpy pullover. Wait? What are you saying?"

"...and it did me some good to hear the truth finally. What are you talking about?"

Harry got confused with the two different conversations they were having at the same time. Why would the stubborn Slytherin not even give Harry the chance to defend himself?

"I am pointing out your lack of formal attire at the night of the Yule Ball. And even if I think I only understood about the half of what you were saying, I would like to state, that I am rarely wrong," Draco said and Harry fought to keep back a smile. At least that would prove that somewhere in Draco there was an intact part of Malfoy-pride. It was more relief than insult, that he felt as a reaction to that words.

"Of course I'm not formally dressed. I didn't plan on attending that horrid ball," Harry pointed out, since he was not the only one in the room, who could fuck situations up royally.

"It was a celebration for peace. I had to attend," Draco said with a grave voice, and Harry could clearly hear the desperation. Harry suddenly got what Draco was saying. Malfoy not attending the Yule Ball would have hit the news the same way Harry's attendance would have.

"Yeah, well now that you have made a big entry I don't think you have to go back there. Everyone has seen you, and I am sure, the press will talk about your dance with McGonagall in every way imaginable," Harry tried to calm the situation again, he was sure the papers would print whatever they wanted, but none of them could deny that the Headmistress had opened the Ball with Malfoy.

"Potter, get out, or I will hex you," Draco barked and stood up. Harry looked at Draco in an unbelieving way. They would go back to hexing, here, now? After all that had happened?

"I am grateful for your help. It was not what I wished for, but you really helped me, now please leave me alone again. You and I will always be on the opposite side. And I really cannot afford to hex you or harm you in any way," Draco sounded not only very neutral, but also very firm. Harry had no idea how to react to that. Why must Draco make everything so difficult? Why must there be so much subtext with the infuriating man, that Harry had the feeling they were always having different conversations?

"If you do not wish to go..." Draco said and put himself together. No, absolutely not! Harry would not allow him to return to that sodding Ball.

"You're impossible. Really, we will not have this discussion. You will go and eat with me, and we will talk like civilised grown-ups. Now kindly shut up, and lend me a hand, I think my foot fell asleep," he said and felt his frustration getting a rise out of him. At least Draco helped him get up, because his foot really felt awful. Now he had Draco's hand in his, so he could drag the blond away from the ball.

"Come on, kitchen's that way," he explained, so that Draco would not have to wonder where they are going.

"Alright Potter. I will humour you and have dinner with you, but under protest and because you not only blackmailed me too, but also dragged me there. And you better make me not regret it later," Draco demanded and only sounded slightly defensive.

It made the small smile on Harry's lips reappear. Harry'd have never guessed, that there could be a time, when he'd actually find the theatrics of one Draco Malfoy endearing and amusing. He looked behind himself, to find Draco looking around, so that the blond totally missed how he opened the tapestry by tickling the pear. What a loss for the Slytherin, but Harry would escort him back here with great pleasure.

"Don't worry, Malfoy. I'll make it worth your while," he said lightly and sat down with Draco. It was a rather busy time for the elves, but as usual some of them always had time for hungry students. He glanced over to Draco and could see the blond trying to take it all in. It was that astonished look, which made Harry order Draco's favourite food.

As the elves put down the plates, Harry moved it in front of Draco: "Here for you."

"But your favourite is roast beef," Draco pointed out, staring down at his meal.

"And yours is chicken and ham pie. Which is really plebeian food, as far as I am to understand," he answered. He had said that he would make it Draco's worthwhile, so why was the blond so astonished to see his favourite meal?

"It was not really served often, but I had eaten it before I came to school," came the defensive remark. Harry stared at Draco for a few moments. He had always wondered about such things. He had always been interested in how Draco grew up, because he could only imagine the life the Slytherin had lead. And now here was the chance for truth.

"What was it really like, growing up in Malfoy Manor", he asked, trying to keep his envy out of his own voice. In his imagination, it was the perfect life.

"When I was little, I got lost once. I cried so hard, because the more I tried to find my way back, the more I got lost. It was my... father who found me. He picked me up, and said: "The next time you get lost, Draco, just concentrate on finding me, and you will find your way. As my son, you will always be able to find me, in our home." And it was true. I got lost a few times after that, but then I would just try and go and find him, and the Manor showed me the way. Even as I grew older, sometimes I humoured the wards, and just felt the pull. It was comforting... until those wards were pulled down," Draco told Harry with a far away sounding voice. Harry was mesmerized. He wouldn't have envisioned Lucius Malfoy as such a father figure. Somehow he had seemed always so distant with Draco.

"And my mother, she would decorate the rooms with flowers, and charms and everywhere she went her scent would linger. And in winter, when you entered her favourite sunroom, the sparkles of the snow would be reflected in the room. I liked it best, when we all were in that room, my father would read a book, my mother would do some embroidery and I would either play or read. It was the feeling of belonging. We would talk about inane things, and in that room, we were a family," Draco said, and somehow the words carried such a deep longing with them. A longing Harry could only understand to well, since he knew how that family story would end already, however Draco truly had had a very nice and lovely childhood. Harry would even go so far as call it perfect. Everyone would wish to have such a nice home, and a family that made you feel like you belonged somewhere.

"And then I grew up. I had my first tutor at the age of six and was sent to a preschool for pure-bloods at the age of seven. I learned about rules, expectations, proper code of conduct. I know how most of the others envied me. It is true, I had it all, but like everything it came at a price. There were rules, and neither of my parents liked to be disappointed", Draco said quieter than before. Harry's eyes grew wide. He never had given that a thought. Of course Draco always talked about how and why Ron was a disgrace for a pure-blood, when in history Malfoys did what, the different lineages that were important in Wizarding history. Harry had never realized that there had to be a time, when Draco had learned all that.

_Neither of my parents liked to be disappointed._

Oh god. He could easily see how Lucius would deal with disappointment. This sentence befitted the image he had from the patriarch far more than the little episode Draco shared with him before.

Suddenly it was clear why he and Draco were so alike. Alike to a point, that they wouldn't get along: To be Draco Malfoy meant to live with the pressure and expectation not only from his own parents, but also from society. Like it did when one was Harry Potter, when ones parents died to save oneself, and expectations of the society were laid upon one, since the first steps in this new world.

The epiphany made his mouth dry and stole away his words. Draco was right, they always were on opposite sides, but he was also wrong, because they somehow also were the same. From their temper, their behaviour, their need to be approved and accepted to the pressure they lived with.

The reason why they couldn't get along, was the different set of expectations which had made it impossible for them to be happy at the same time.

**Chapter 9: Flip the Coin...**

His own even, easy breath, which was just slightly audible was the first thing Draco noted, in the silence of his dorm. He had just awoken. It was unsettling how peaceful the morning seemed. It felt somehow wrong in the light of all the recent events: The Yule Ball was only three days in the past, and the novelty of having conversations with Potter had still not worn off. It was not only the peculiar topics they choose to talk about, but also the strangeness of Harry Potter himself.

They had spent hours in the kitchen and Draco really had enjoyed the chicken and ham pie, even if it took him nearly all the time to finish it. Following Potters first question about his life at the Manor, nothing of great consequence was discussed.

What he found agitating was that Potter would not leave it at one evening, when everybody was engaged in something far more pleasant, than worrying about where the Death Eater on parole went. No, Potter would somehow gravitate back to him: He would be in Myrtle's lavatory, walk with him to the library, where they would sit together and work on their homework. At least Potter had helped him in his understanding of electricity. Draco himself was able to help the hero in his understanding of some very important potion theory and discuss transfiguration with him. Sometimes Potter would say something so wrong, which would undoubtedly remind him of Crabbe- trying but failing to understand something. However Draco had not minded it then, nor did he really mind it now. That Potter never stopped talking was the real problem. The great hero always had something to discuss, or a topic at hand that would him keep opening his mouth for a length of a time

It was disturbing his routine, his silence. It was as if now he had no moment for himself because Potter would be there. 

If Potter was just missing his friends, why did he not go back home with them? And why now? What was Potter after? Draco was doing nothing but trying to stay out of trouble. Salazar, if he could he would be invisible. But he was not allowed to use _disillusionment_ charms, so he could only hide. Not that that had worked very well for him in the last months. At least he had managed not to draw much attention to him. Besides most of the bullies were not even close to the level of imagination the Death Eaters showed during the war. They faded in comparison to his aunt.

And what did Potter mean when he had told Draco that what he wanted was a _big question_? How could wanting something be a big question? If Draco would be in Potters position, he would have no difficulty to decide which want to satisfy first. Of course being in Potters position and being Potter were completely different things. As a person, Potters wants must be quite unique, Draco imagined. Potter would want more justice, and his worship to stop, because apparently he had enough of it already. Draco could understand that in part. It must he hard, being a hero for all of ones childhood and teenager days, just because one survived something that killed ones parents. Then again somehow this did not seem right, not only because Draco had heard rumours about the Muggles, who brought Potter up, but also because the side comments Potter made about his Muggle family. Somehow they always sounded resentful to Draco.

Draco himself had trouble imagining growing up not knowing that magic was real. For him it was such a big part of his life, the tradition, the things he believed. It made the impossible possible. That was the most useful lesson Draco had learned and understood in his life: magic was about making the impossible possible - influence did the same with people who might try to get in his way. When one does magic and the result did not turn out right, one had to rethink the premises one works with- the same goes for people: it was about making them see, what one sees, in a way that they want it to happen too.

If Potter knew he thought that way, the Gryffindor would call him twisted for sure. It was the way he was brought up, the way of the snake, the way of Slytherin. It was this kind of thinking that had made Merlin a great wizard. He thought about ways around limitations of his time, around the limit of the knowledge available to him, he lived the principle of magic.

It was said, that Potter was the strongest wizard of this age, his magic was rumoured to be limitless like the ocean. Draco wondered what it must be like, to be so strong, admired and respected. Potter could do anything he wanted, he had literally all the possibilities available to him. And the prat could not figure out what he wanted.

Draco snorted at his own thoughts. Life was a very cruel thing.

But suddenly Draco sat up in shock.

There was one thing even Potter could not accomplish: Potter would never be able to see his parents, to life with them. Would never live without missing them or being compared to them.

Draco took the Dark Mark for his parents. He was prepared to do horrible things just to keep his mother and his father alive. Just the envision to have never met his parents, was horrible.

Maybe that was why Potter had such troubles? Could the Gryffindor really miss something he could not even remember he once had? Draco figured it must be the case, since Potter always saw his friends with their parents.

Also Potter could never get the experience of old magic, of a family where magic was natural. Essentially even if Potter was a half-blood, being raised by Muggles, made him a Muggle-born when it came to magic. A natural talent, very powerful, but still there is so much magic that is not taught by books, but by watching ones parents do it, by seeing it happening.

In fact the more Draco thought about it, the more things came to his mind that Potter could not experience: a carefree life was the best example for that.

Draco was groomed to live with pressure, even if it was crushing him right now. Potter had learned to cope with it, Draco guessed, accepted that this was how it was going to be for the rest of his life. Of course Potter clearly was not happy with that attention, and he handled it in a very direct, Gryffindorish way.

Draco sighed. All this thinking about Potters wants led him exactly nowhere. Potter himself could not figure out what he wanted. So how could Draco figure it out? All it really did, was showing what Draco himself at the moment was not able to do: he was not able to see his mother, to sleep in his own bed. He would not eat the amazing Yule-Dinner, nor the self-baked cookies from his mother. Somehow he had the feeling that this year, just like last year there would be no such cookies.

Draco got up, his hands straightening out his hair. It was ridiculous, he knew it, but he could not help his feelings. He was homesick. There had never been a time, he was away from home at Christmas. Hi missed the familiar feeling of the Manor. It was like he was back in first year, in his first month in school. He had been so afraid. It had been the first time, he was away from home for months. Never to mention that at the beginning he really had trouble with sleeping with the others around him all the time. He could remember how Greg always told him, he was so secretive when they had been younger, but only in the first months here did he understand, that Greg did not mean secretive but private. The son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy was all about image, being know, showing off his achievements.

However for himself he had enjoyed the alone time with his family by far more than any other times. When his father would loosen up is tie, his mother would let some locks of her hair down, making his father smile at her. This were the best memories, he would shed his vest, loose his tie completely and sit with them, talking about either the social event that just happened or his mother would tell the gossip she just had heard, and his father and Draco would roll their eyes and smile. After some time he would go back to his room, shed his button- down and enjoy the quiet of his own space.

In this dorm it was never quiet, well, with the exception of today. He could not speak for the years before, but for him this quiet felt ghostly, taunting and agitating. Draco started to pace besides his bed. He wanted to be back home. He wanted to be with his mother. He wanted for Potter to leave him alone and not be there, as soon as he leave the Slytherin dorm. He wanted to be able to make his desires come true!

For a split seconded he even thought about going to Potter and demanding from him, that Potter made his wants happen, seeing as the stupid bafoon had no wishes of his own, or if he had, he did not have them in order. Then his sense kicked in, and he realized that not only this was a stupid idea, but also a very ludicrous thought. It must be a testimony to his stress, that his thoughts were so all over the place.

It was a different kind of stress, than the one got used to. His breath was still even, he did not have any sign of panic, but still he was tense. Unable to relax, even as he tired. It was like he had an itch he did not know how to get rid of. Draco came to a halt and sighted again. It was no use, he would only go mad, if he stayed in this room any longer.

The door of the lavatory was shut with a near silent click.

"Oh my, look who's back again," Myrtle looked down on him, from the high of the stall walls, "and you even came alone and without your great hero. My, my aren't you brave today," she taunted him.

"Just so we understand each other, I did not invite Potter. He just followed me, and I am not able to get rid of him," Draco growled. "Not that I did not try, that oaf is completely obvious when it comes to social cues or understanding of words said to his face," he sighted and sat down in his hiding spot, between the two stall rows.

"It's even more frustrating now that he taken all the fun and mystery out of the electricity. Now I have to search for something else to amuse me. For a hero, he is really a rather rude guy, isn't he?" Myrtle nodded in agreement and hovered close to Draco.

"And it is not even you, that has to hand in a homework, that in part was done by Potter. If I would be a little more dramatic, I would say, that it is impossible for me to ever live down the shame of this. So really you are having the easy side, because I'm sure you will find something to amuse you with very soon again," Draco said in an agitated voice.

It was the truth, Potter had even helped him come up with an idea to show that his theory about wizards and electricity was right. If it had not been so helpful, Draco would say it was insulting. The bigger problem was, that Draco found himself really intrigued with the whole concept of electricity, magnetism and atoms, but as a wizard it would be impossible for him to study tem beyond theory. It was a sobering and hurting thought. But it showed that the Dark Lord had it wrong, and that on the other hand felt good.

"Well, since you have nothing interesting to say, I will go back and spy on the Bloody Baron and the Gray Lady. That is always very entertaining to me," Myrtle said and disappeared.

Draco snorted. She was right, he had nothing of interest to say, he had nothing to say at all. Nothing besides: I want to go home. I want to be with my mother.

Nineteen years old and fighting with homesickness, if it would not hurt so much, he would poke fun at himself. It was undignified, not that he could help himself.

He took one deep breath again and listened as his breathing disturbed the silence. But even here the itch did not go away. He felt the ants crawling under his skin, and his emotions overflowing. It was like he was having a panic attack without the feeling of panic. In between his homesickness and this horrific feeling, he felt like a Dragon in a too small cage. It hurt in all the wrong and dreadful ways.

Draco blinked a few times at the sight in front of his eyes: There were thick lines of blood on his arm, and a pool of blood on the floor next to him. He could sense the wetness of his button down and his trousers. His left hand was holding his bloody knife.

When had he taken the knife out of his bag? Why was it in his hand all of the sudden?

The smell of blood was heavy in the air and his fast heartbeat was loud in his ears.

This was a mess!

He felt a heavy throbbing from his arm while he watched as even more blood was pouring out of the deeper cuts.

Calming down, that was what he had to do now. It would not help him to panic now.

So he had cut himself, that clearly was nothing new. Some of the cuts were shaky and by the look of them deep, also nothing he could not handle. Certainly, it was alarming that he could not remember the cutting itself, but such things have been known to happen.

Calming down, making his heartbeat even. He would now let go of the knife, grab his wand, and spell this mess away. Everything was alright, and he was in control.

But Draco was not. He was too enchanted with the sight of his blood. It was beautiful magical blood, renown to the Wizarding World. It was Malfoy-blood. It was his blood. He liked how the deep red liquid painted the marble floor, how the rills and raisings of the tiles formed a landscape to his feet. It was a fascinating sight. Draco noticed that with every drop of blood he lost, the landscape would grow, more floor would be covered. Finally he could notice his heartbeat slowing down once more. Beauty always soothed the heart.

Draco knew he had to stop the bleeding soon, but since he had not lost nearly as much blood as when Potters curse had hit him, he figured he had some time left. Only one or two more droplets, then he would clean up.

Yet in spite of his intentions, the two droplets had fallen to the ground without any movement on his part, and then there were three and four, and Draco still did not stop the bleeding.

Only when he noticed faintness creeping up on him, his fingers going numb, he realized that not only had he lost far more blood than he thought, but also that his wounds must me deeper than he anticipated. He let go of the knife in his left hand abruptly, and it fell down with a loud clatter. What had he been thinking? He should have cleaned it up from the start. He did not do this. He had not been interested in dying, he only had started this as a way to reduce the pressure. He had felt a weight lifted being from him, as Potter had thrown that curse on him.

Yes, he had been on the verge of dying then, and it had been magnificent, because death would have meant that whatever would have happened in that damn war, would have nothing to do with him anymore. It would have absolved him of his guilt, made the Dark Mark on his left forearm insignificant. But Snape was faster than death, at least that time, not that the he had managed to prevent his own passing, but Draco refused to ponder such things. The many _if only_ s, _what if_ s, _maybe if_ s and _why not_ s of a war would never lead to answers or outcomes, which would be better or more satisfactory than the actual outcome. Those thoughts would only bring regret and pain, and Draco had enough of those to deal with already.

However now Draco tried to stay alive out of his own free will and for his mothers sake.

Draco took his wand in his left hand and started healing his right hand. He huffed at himself in disbelieve. He was perfectly aware that while he could use his left hand normally, his dominant hand was his right hand. Healing spells being of complicated nature not only took their time with his left hand, they also did not work very well. He tried to focus but the blood loss and the nausea would not subdue anymore.

"Malfoy, I came to get you for breakfast. Because I know you're skipping it again. Really, that is rather stupid of you," Potter bellowed as he entered through the door.

Draco had to roll his eyes. Of course Potter would find him now, when he was about to faint in another mess, he had created for himself. Such was his life.

"Potter, if I cannot get rid of you, you might as well help me", he said, trying to sound calm and confident, so that Potter hopefully would not freak out. It could not be as bad as it looked, since he still felt fine, and was alert to his surroundings. Also he had tried to help himself, it was just that this was rather hard, with his weak hand. It was under control.

Of course Potter did freak out.

"What the hell..., oh my gosh what happened here," he stormed to Dracos side. "What did you do? How could this happen, look at all this blood. Are you mental? Is nearly dying once not enough for you?" Potters voice was shrieking and hammering in Dracos ears.

"First, do not make such a drama out of this," Draco tried to calm Potter down, with a soothing and rational voice. "Please do us both a favour and calm down," Draco said as he watched Potter throwing healing spells at his arm.

"What are you... how could you do this to me," Potter said and stepped away, after the bleeding stopped. "Do you know how many bloody nightmares I have of you bleeding to death in this bloody room?" the Gryffindor said, still not really sounding calm.

"You say bloody a lot, for this kind of situation," Draco found himself saying. He had no idea what Potter was playing at, but he was certain that Potter was exaggerating the situation.

"Have you come across a mirror the last month or so?" Potter was now kneeing in front of him, his hand heavy on Dracos knee.

"Of course I have. What a stupid question? I hide in a girls lavatory, It is rather difficult to not come by a mirror here," Draco said, sounding defensive to his own ears.

"And did you look into the mirror? At all? Really, all the good breeding and aristocratic features, that make you rather interesting are looking more and more horrifying these days," Potter said in a rather small voice, making it hard for Draco to understand what was said at all. But it was also very difficult to focus on those immense green and blazing eyes, so it might not be Potters fault.

"Potter, I'm feeling dizzy" he said in a tiny voice, starting to feel a little embarrassed himself. This was so not an outcome he had wanted at all. Fainting in front of Potter, was rather shameful.

"Of course you are," Potter suddenly sounded rather close. "Come on, put your arm around my neck," he commanded.

"Potter, if I get up now, I will faint. What part of dizzy while seating are you unable to understand. I will not get up," he tried to snarl, in what sounded to him a very dignified tone. He definitely needed to distract himself from the fact that his feet were growing cold, due to the blood loss, that.

"Really, I must be an utter idiot in your mind. You must wonder, how I survived so far at all," Potter said and shook his head.

"You have no idea how often I wonder about that," Draco replied and felt his lips move into a wicked grin.

"As long as I'm able to clean after you" were the next words he could hear from very close, then he grabbed Dracos arm and moved it around his own neck. Draco looked at him in with an expression he hoped to be at least indifferent, but he was not really sure anymore if he had that much control over his facial muscles.

And then he was lifted.

Oh. _Oh!_

Well, at least his dizziness did not get worse.

He studied Potter's strained face, while the black-haired man did some mumbling and arm shifting.

"What are you doing?" he asked, as after some long seconds the Gryffindor still refused to move.

"Cleaning away your blood, so that nobody goes searching for a heavily wounded girl," Potter said sounding sort of condescending.

"That is very thinking ahead of you. I am impressed, even in my dizzy state. Remind me to mark the date in my calendar," Draco said, trying to be funny, so that it was not so obvious that he felt ashamed and helpless. He let his head settle against Potters shoulder, because it was getting rather heavy.

"Very funny, Malfoy. Very funny. You do know that I actually won a war. Not singlehandedly like everybody wants to believe, but I won," Potters reply came rather swiftly, but sounding also far away all of the sudden. And had his eyelids always been this heavy.

"I know, Potter. And I am very grateful for that. World would be horrible if you had lost, believe..." Draco fell asleep, while Potter was carrying him somewhere.

At least he was saved by Potter again. At this point it could not really matter anymore how many life debts he owned the Gryffindor, Potter would be unable to collect them all. Additionally Draco figured he had nothing to lose, regarding his standing in Potters eyes. It softened the blow a little bit, even if his pride did not take to well to this situation.

The first sensation that came to him, was that of warmth. It felt very comforting and soothing. It was a nice feeling. Then slowly he felt how heavy his body still was, and how tired he was. Something had woken him up.

There it was again. A kind of a mean whisper.

As he opened his eyes he saw nothing. In actuality that was not true, he saw something, he just had no clue what to make of it. Where had Potter taken him? He then realized what he saw was Potters trouser clad tight, and that was a rather strange sight from up close.

He must have made a noise or shifted, because then Potters hand was in his hair, combing softly through it.

"Potter, what is going on?" he asked, not sure if he really wanted to know. How long has he been out? Why was he in the same bed as Potter? More to the point where was this bed located?

"You passed out, idiot brat of a pure-blood," Potter answered, the worry in his voice belying the anger that he valiantly tried to hide, but failed. Then again Potter could never hide his anger from him.

"I remember _falling asleep_ ," he said with emphasis "as it took you hours to clean away a little blood. What I do not remember is you explaining to me where we are here," he said and hoped it sounded witty and not as tired and confused, as he really felt.

"We are in one of the guest-rooms. I did not want to take you to the Gryffindor Tower because for one it is rather far away and the other, I did not think that you could handle the experience of my dorm right now," Potter said, and Draco relaxed a little.

Guestroom meant around the fourth floor, east wing. It also explained the white sheets and the warm but not distinct tone of the room as far as he could make it out, from his position next to Potter.

"How are you feeling?" Potter asked sounding very much like the idiot Draco took him for.

"Is this truly the question you want to ask me now?", he had to enquire, just to make sure. Who would state such a blunt question to a man who just got up, after he was found bleeding on the floor.

"No, I truly want to ask if you've gone completely crazy? If you've lost the plot? And most importantly if you were thinking at all, what were you thinking?" Potter said with gritted teeth. "I just don't believe that you would answer any of those questions honestly, so I picked one that is actually not intrusive, considering how I found you," Potter argued, and even Draco had to admit, that the git, really tried to hold his temper in.

"I have not lost the plot. In my family, we do not get the luxury of losing the plot without being locked away. And as you experienced firsthand, my ancestral home has ample space for one to be locked up in," Draco responded, and knew that really, he was just riling Potter up, so that they would not have to talk about what had happened. He could not believe himself, but he also could not do it differently. Potter and himself could not get along. Despite the fact that Draco had to acknowledge how similar they were, there was still a world of differences between the two of them.

"See, I was right. You can't even tell me if you are in pain now," Potters calm voice was hitting Draco like a sharp knife, because that was not the reaction Draco had prepared himself for. "If you think about it, it's rather daft of both of us. We can't lie about our pasts into the faces of one another, but we do so much to hide the present from each other. How screwed is that," Potter went on, and dragged his other hand through his hair, while the one on Dracos head still lay there.

"We cannot lie about the past, because we were both too involved in each others life..." Draco started to say, only to be interrupted by Potter: "We are involved in each others present too, you just ignore it for your own reasons."

"Given our past, it is perfectly reasonable for me to try and stay out of your way. Once we are done with this school, I imagine we will see very little, if anything from each other," Draco snapped. He tried to stay clear of Potter for a reason: His life never has gone well, when Potter was closed. And not going well now, would have him in Azkaban before he could drop his wand.

"It's not only that I don't believe this to be true, but it will also be quite hard to achieve. The Wizarding World is not that big, we will see each other," Potter disagreed with him.

"Not if I refuse to leave my home," Draco had to argue his point.

"I could come and visit you," Potter said now definitely trying to get a rise out of him.

"You would not dare," Draco pushed up to his elbows and shot Potter a hot glare. Why could Potter not get an easy hint: He wanted to be left alone.

But instead of shutting the Gryffindor up, he chuckled: "I would. When I really need someone to point out my mistakes, I would go and find you. Because for reasons not quite clear to me either, you're the only one who is brave enough to tell the truth to my face. Even my friends found excuses for my faults. They don't see me as a hero, but they are willing to overlook my mistakes, as long as they are non academic and non criminal, very easily." Potter stated and his eyes locked with Draco's making his insides squirm.

"Yeah well, your friends are Gryffindors after all," Draco mumbled and turned his head away.

"Yes, they are. Well most of them. Luna is far too Ravenclaw to be a Gryffindor," Potter made a very weak joke.

"I never will understand her sorting. Honestly I think she is something else," Draco said, and was very happy that at least for the moment, the topic seemed to have shifted away from him.

"It doesn't always make sense what she says, but she is very witty. I enjoy talking to her, although it confuses me," Potter laughed, and seemed to be happy for the break too, so Draco dared to relax. Stupid mistake in the vicinity of a lion.

"Will you tell me what has happened this morning?" Potter asked suddenly. Draco was left starring him. What should he say? How should he tell? Where should he begin? Did he even want to get into this?

"Potter, I really cannot", Draco forced himself to admit the truth. He could see the moment the words reached Potter, because something in his eyes seem to grow cold, and his face appeared to be harder. It was a startling change, because Draco had never noticed how open Potter acted towards him now. After all that had happened - or maybe it was because of all that had happened?

"No, Potter, listen to me: I literally cannot. It is not that I do not want to, but I cannot. I do not remember," he said desperately wanting Potter to understand.

"Are you kidding me? I healed your hand. And I am pretty sure that I healed more than just today's cuts, but there are quite a few left. God, if you make some more downward cuts you can have the complete chessboard on your arm," Potter sounded outraged and Draco felt himself wince at the implications.

"No, I do not want to mock you," he whispered and wished himself to be anywhere but here. Anywhere without Potter would now really be his favourite place. "I can remember the other cuts, but today... I was just so...I can handle pressure, my whole life is pressure. I dare you to think weak of me! I might be a coward, but I am not weak," he said and tried to get away from Potter. But his body still was exhausted.

"I never thought that you were weak. Many things, not all of them flattering, but I never thought you weak. You stayed alive in the mess your own father had helped to create. Who else is there, who can say the same?", Potter said, still not looking at him. "But why would you cut yourself open, why in that room? You nearly died there! I nearly killed you there. I was so angry at you, I never knew myself the way I do since that moment," Potter murmured looking at his own hands.

"It was a horrible moment for you," Draco conceded, and moved back to where he had lain before, this time however sitting up next to Potter leaning back at the wall. "Do you want to know what I felt in that moment?" Draco went on, never waiting for an answer: "I felt fucking grateful. I was going to die, and it made me feel free again. If I had died then and there... never to mention the benefit of being the one and only black-spot in the hero tales about you. I would have been great at that. Haunting you from my grave and becoming immortal with you at the same time. That would have been a victory you would never have been able to undo," Draco tried to defuse his honesty with a joke. It was to hide is embarrassment, they both knew.

"So you regret Snape saving you?" Potter finally looked at him again.

"Do I still wish to die, is what you are really asking, right?" Draco lifted his eyebrow. Was Potter trying to be less Gryffindor by making his questions even more obnoxious?

"No, I do not want to die. I cannot leave my mother alone. She is not a born Malfoy some of the wards at the Manor must give her hell, others, that were taken down, cannot be set up by her. I have to go home. Also I am very certain that she is already displeased with all the politics and economy she has to involve herself in right now. She does not care for these things," he answered, and closed his eyes.

"Why are you so in love with your stupid home? Every time you speak of it, you get this very soft tone. I mean you got lost in it, you have to go for miles to get somewhere, and even better, Voldemort himself held court there. How can you not resent it, fear it, hate it?" Potter seemed to wonder. Draco could not really understand how this was difficult to understand.

"It is my home. It has been the home to my family since we first moved to Britain. Some of the magic there is so strong that even the Dark Lord could not change it. And in Spring and Summer, when the flowers are blooming and everything is green, it is the most inviting sight. It is the safest place I know of and I never have been gone from it for so long," Draco answered, and felt his heart grow heavy again. He felt his breath becoming shaky. This was shameful, and he started to feel like an idiot for what he was about to say. But at the same time he felt compelled to confess to, share this with Potter. The boy did save him, without telling anyone after all. Maybe it would have been easier to tell, if he understood why even now he was acting like a small child, yearning for his home. He took ne deep breath and fixed his eyes on the fire opposite the bed. He could do this, it was really nothing. Besides Potter had lived with him through all of his shameful moments. He had nothing to lose. And with that he steeled himself to confess.

"I am homesick Potter. This is, what this all was about. I am homesick, I miss my mother, and her calm demeanours, with which she always finds a way to turn the situation around. I miss her Christmas cookies, and the way the Manor would gleam in the snow. But most of all, I miss my room, my bed, the silence in the morning, when the first light begins to only touch the wall. Go ahead and laugh, I guess after the shock and all, I owe you one," Draco sighed and closed his eyes. Talking about wanting to be home, did not really help him.

"Why would I laugh at that? This is the way I feel about Hogwarts. I am so afraid that this year will be over, and I can't come back here. Where will I live? Where should I go? Where will the others be? It is a horrible thought. That is the reason why I stayed, because going away would have hurt too much" Potter said and Draco could feel how the Gryffindor took his hand.

"You cannot stay here forever. It is a school, you know?" Draco stated the obvious and would have very much liked to kick his own ass. That was not only not helping, but also a very stupid comment, as Potter was aware of the fact.

"I know. But for the moment, we can pretend." At that statement Draco had to turn his head and looked at Potter disbelieving.

"Pretend?" he asked still not sure what to do with such a statement.

"Pretend. I do it all the time: Pretend to care , pretend to not care. Pretend to be happy, to be not angry, to be ok, to be comfortable. I pretend so much, sometimes it nearly feels real."

"Then how do you know it is not real?" Draco found himself asking. Whatever point Potter was trying to make, he was not sure he understood it.

"It feels wrong. Like when I want to shout at all of them to leave me alone, but I find myself going along with their questions. I even pretended to not care how often you would just walk away from a conversation with me, when in truth I did care, a lot", Potters eyes where now linked with his and the shine he could see in there shook something in his own core.

"The thing is, besides my friends you are the one person I do not have to pretend around. I have to hide a little, because being weak in front of you is scary. Seeing as you can relate to that, I would guess our pride is getting the better of us. Because in the end, what you said to me was true. I truly have no plan of how to go on, and I _am_ afraid that I will join the Aurors because I can't find anything else I would like to do," Potter said, but it was Draco who had to swallow hard. It made sense, but as far as truth went, this one was a fist to the stomach.

"Well, besides the walking out part, there I plainly pretended. That was hard to take. I mean I understand, that it is hard for you to be seen with me, because attention is where I am, not that I really can help that," Potter went on before Draco could get his head around the stuff he just had heard.

"Potter, you lost me. What is it, you are trying to say, because I feel like I am getting the wrong impression here," Draco injected. He was not too sure about what kind of impression he got, but he figured that could be overlooked right now.

"If you get the impression, that I tried to befriend you for the last couples of weeks and you made it a nearly Spartan endeavour for me, then you got the right impression," Potter smiled at him, and Draco had to roll his eyes.

"Really? How should I have known? Given our history, it was more likely that you were part of some scheme or another. It might have escaped your notice, but I am not the most tolerated person right now. Besides I did not walk out on you that often. I do not even recall us speaking that often," Draco defended himself. How could he have guessed that Potter wanted to be his friend? Seeing as it was Potter, who denied him said friendship more than eight years ago. But then suddenly some other pieces where finally falling together: "It was you. You did something so that they left me alone. YOU said something to Smith and the others," he accused Potter, fully knowing he was right. Draco really should have known it sooner, why else would they leave him alone all of the sudden.

"Might've pointed out some of their mistakes," Potter mumbled.

"Is this your hero-thing enactment? Because really I refuse to be part of this. just so you can realise your heroics while turning bad," Draco bit back. He could not believe it! And a part of him refused to believe it.

"What? No, of course not! I don't care about all that hero- crap, and you know that! It's just... you paid what you owed. You are on probation and just because they did not fight for the losing side, doesn't give them the right to punish you. Vendettas are unnecessary at least when Smith is involved. I'm not saying that you don't deserve some of the resentment you have to live with. It'll be your duty to make up to them, but there are people out there, who have no room to talk, and Smith is right on top of that list," Potter stated and then sighed deeply, while ruffling his own hair even more. Yes, that was definitely not saying what Potter wanted to say, but Draco got the message.

"Alright. I can live with that," he nodded and leaned back, trying to relax once more. At Potters questioning look, Draco shook his head.

"Yes, obviously I understood the sentiment behind your blubber. Might as well say, I must have picked up Potterish in the last years," Draco grinned wickedly. It was always fun to point out how unable Potter was to say what he wanted.

"That's good then. So I can come to you, when I need help with wording and all," Potter grinned back.

"Well, yes, but be aware you might have to enter my horrid home to find me," Draco shot back.

"I believe strongly in redemption and redecoration, and maybe you can show me why you like it there so much," Potter joked but with a soft undertone.

"Maybe," Draco replied and noticed the tea and the soup on the nightstand for the first time.

"Ah, yes that's for you, when you wake'd up," the Gryffindor handed him the tray with the soup. For a moment it appeared as if Potter wanted to say more, but he remained silent.

For the time it took Draco to eat his soup, no words were exchanged. It was not an uncomfortable silence, but it was heavy with foreboding. Potter had still questions. Draco could hear them in the silence, but he was not sure if he wanted to answer those questions now.

He carefully lowered the spoon back into the soup plate.

"You are a very neat eater, I noticed that back in first year. I never have seen anybody eat like you," Potter said.

"Considering that you are sitting next to Weasley- Ronald Weasley, it is no wonder that you would note other peoples manners. Is there any food, that will not find his way in his mouth?" Draco asked, sidestepping the talk about his eating habits very neatly.

"Not that I have seen so far. He really likes to eat. But if you'd taste his mothers cooking you'd understand and the Hogwarts kitchen is not that bad either," Potter said and Draco thought that he had distracted Potter from himself, when Potter went on: "You can't eat when you are stressed, right? You are so thin and bony because since 6th year you are having troubles. Am I right?" Potter said without even an inkling what kind of bomb he just dumped on Draco.

"As you clearly have it figured out, I think we do not need to talk about it, do we?" he asked back, is voice colder, body tensed.

"You've a point, we don't need to talk about that either. But you know, we can, if you ever want to talk about it" Potter said very softly.

"I am not starving myself. Please try to listen: I am not trying to kill myself. It is just, when I am stressed food does not only not appeal to me. But every bite makes my stomach cramp in a very painful way, never to mention the nausea," Draco tried to explain before Potter would get any false ideas. It was not the whole truth, because even if the Gryffindor was aware of his troubles with crowds at the moment, he really did not want to talk about that. Draco himself rather hoped it was only a phase, that would go away again.

Potter stayed silent for a very long time, before he looked back at Draco. Draco felt as if Potter was trying to look into his soul, and he seemed to be succeeding. No one could hide from those blazing green eyes.

"You know how you said, that I should not save you? What if I really want for you to save me? What if I've done all this, not only because I want to get to know you, and be close to you, but also because I felt, like you are the one person that can really and truly save me from myself?"

"I would suggest that you are mental," was the first reply that Draco gave without thinking, because to be honest, it did sound a little mental. Potter did not really need him. But there was something in Potters eyes, something in the way he had phrased what he just said.

Potter did not need Draco to save himself, but he wanted Draco to be the one to save him.

"This is all because I could not leave you alone, is it not?" Draco asked, and was surprised by his own soft voice.

"It could also be because I couldn't leave you alone, think about that," Potter said, and yes Draco was sure there was a smile hidden somewhere.

"You are crazy, you must be," Draco rolled his eyes. This was not a funny situation, they barely touched the really big problems they had, and still it had made them both uncomfortable to talk. How, in which way did Potter think they were good for another?

"Crazy usually works fine for me," Potter grinned this time for sure.

"What is it that, you are even suggesting, because we are back to wrong impressions for me," Draco said, and he could feel his heartbeat growing faster. No, he could not go there. He spent all of his 5th year imaging it.

"You are getting ahead of yourself. First, I don't date skeletons, second I've not dated for long and have very little experience with it. So we will try this simple: We will see, if we can be friends. You know, spending time with each other, without hexing or walking away. We will try to talk, someday even revisit some of the topics from today and you really need to eat, but I'll gladly help you there. And then, if the feelings are there, we can take the risk and try to date. We are different from the rest, we have a history, there are things we don't need to explain to each other, and things we seriously need to talk about a lot," Potter stated. Draco arched an eyebrow, but he could not hide his smile. This was such a Gryffindor way.

"I am not sure if you are ludicrous or kinky," Draco pointed out.

"Kinky? What about my idea is kinky?" Potter looked a little shocked.

"Dating your school rival would count as kinky Potter, I am very sure of that," Draco said and leaned closer.

"We are befriending at first. To see if all that was about you, was really about you," Potter tried to defend his decision.

"For me it was about you, always has been always will," Draco said and moved even closer. And where did his sudden bravery come from? Maybe Potter had annoyed him into it? With all the Gryffindor thinking and scheming. It would take years for them to get to a point where they would be dating. Somehow Potter must have missed that.

"You know, the way you speak, so very posh and ritzy. I kinda like that too," Potter grinned wildly. Draco could feel the surprise at that spreading though his body. Even his friends sometimes managed to get annoyed with his speech. Draco figured it was because in the end they would lose the argument to him.

Before he could however comment on that, Potters lips were on his, soft, warm and very enjoyable. Draco was only to reciprocate in kind. But before the kiss could deepen Potter moved away again, still looking at Draco with kind eyes.

"Later, when we are dating, and managing to call each other by the first name," Potter said with a wicked gleam in his eyes, and Draco gowned. First names, right they are screwed from the start. Draco had never allowed himself to call Potter by his given name, not even in his thoughts. It was such an intimate gesture.

"Later then Potter, but remember it was your idea with the first name rule when I look dashing once again," Draco only a tiny little bit too late.

"Don't worry, I will get you to call me Harry. Got you to talk to me too, Draco," the Gryffindor said and laughed.

Dracos looked flabbergasted at Potter. How could he say his name so easily?

"You know _Potter_. Next year on this day you will be celebrating the Yule night at the Manor, are you prepared for that?" he tried to get one over Potter.

"Sure, we can do the Dinner at your parents house, but I will be expected at the Burrow for Lunch, and we have to work that you will be too," Potter said and leaned back very relaxed and satisfied.

"Oh Merlin. I think I need to lie down again," Draco said and shifted under the blanket, next to Potter - Harry- Potter once more. And like before Potters hand combed through his hair. And maybe for the moment that was enough. They had a goal, a very difficult one, and for Draco it will be a herculean task not only because of his bad habits but also because of his fears. But in the end he was not the only one who was in need of saving.

**Chapter 10: ...just don't let it drop**

Soaking the silence in was Harry's activity for the early morning. The sun had just begun to rise and it was a very beautiful morning. He sat on the window sill next to his bed and looked over the wide grounds where the snow sparkled in the sun.

The silence was nice, and a very welcome change of pace in his dorm room. Only four other Gryffindors were staying at Hogwarts during the holidays: two fifth years and two six years. All of them knew to leave him alone.

Contentment.

This morning Harry felt really content. He missed Hermione and Ron, but this was his last year at Hogwarts, and even if Miss Weasley told him, he had to come home for Christmas, he didn't want to. He apologized to her, but in the end Hogwarts was his home, and he had to leave it next summer so he really wanted to spent Christmas here in this castle. The mood that has fallen over the castle since the Yule Ball was subdued, since most of the students had left with their parents. It would be a very quiet Christmas, compared to the one he spent here in his first year. However it seemed to fit after all that had happened in the last years.

Having the castle to share only with a handful of other students, had also one huge advantage: Draco would not run out on him after only a few words.

After the Yule Ball Harry gravitated back to Draco's side. It was not only interesting but also very entertaining to spent time with the Slytherin. Draco had so different views, but at the same time they shared many experiences, like with the press. Harry himself of course had never known about it, before Draco had told him, that The Daily Prophet had been a very common guest at Malfoy- gatherings, and they would always write not only about his parents, but also about how Draco had behaved. The Malfoys, Harry had learned, had been in the public eye for many generations, so Draco had to live with that.

It was also more fun doing homework with Draco. Not only, would Draco point out his mistakes in his book choices, but also explain stuff to Harry in a very easy way. Harry had learned some aspects of potions, he had never considered before. It was fascinating to understand the subtle art of potions once more. And he finally could understand what Snape had failed to teach him. Potions was not only about precision, but also about decision. The same ingredients would not always behave in the same way. To lower or to turn up the flame depended on the interactions of the ingredients. Sometimes it would take them five minutes and eight seconds and sometimes four minutes and fifty-two seconds.

The most intriguing thing Harry had heard from Draco, was Draco's Muggle Study assignment. While all the other pure-bloods Harry knew worked on something easy like: "Muggle photos- why don't the move?" or "Transportation the Muggle way- Taking longer and being in greater danger", or the one Ron did: "Muggle films about Magic- what do they really know?"; Draco went out of his way to find out, why electricity and wizards did not mingle well. It was striking what Draco had found out. And how much theory he incorporated. He would like to discuss this with Hermione, because he knew she would love to hear about that, but he did not want to break the trust given. He had helped Draco in all the ways he could, explaining electricity as he had learned it in school. Draco was like Hermione in his sponge-like grasping of ideas. He was sure, if those two could overcome their differences and talk to each other, they would work very, very well together. 

However today he had decided that he would give Draco some room. He had noticed that Draco got short tempered, twitchy around him. Harry figured that him being around Draco so much, must be getting on Draco's nerves. Harry only hoped it was not because who he was, but because of the intensity of their shared time. It must be odd, for Draco to spent nearly four months only with a ghost and then suddenly be pestered by a Gryffindor. So he had left Draco alone to have his dinner last night and would not bother him until breakfast time. He was certain that Draco would not eat breakfast, if Harry would not go and fetch him. Besides the silence felt good to Harry too, and he liked to indulge himself in the pleasant anticipation of seeing Draco later today. The novelty of finally being able to talk to Draco, to get to know the blond has not worn off yet. 

Around half past eight Harry decided it was time to get moving. He got up from the window sill, got dressed, and checked the map, so that he didn't have to search for Draco all over the castle. The map, however, only confirmed his suspicion: Draco was already in the lavatory, for sure not thinking about breakfast.

With a secret smile to himself he opened the door: "Malfoy, I came to get you for breakfast. Because I know you're skipping it again. Really, that is rather stupid of you," he announced and found it amusing how difficult it got not to call Malfoy by his given name.

He took a look around, but could not see Draco until he stepped in the lavatory further. This was not surprising, giving how Harry now knew Draco's favourite spot.

"Potter, if I cannot get rid of you, you might as well help me", came the slow and tired sounding voice of the unseen man. Harry wondered with what he should help Draco, when he stepped around the corner and saw all the blood.

There was so much blood!

His heart stopped for a beat, only to start again at a much faster beat.

"What the hell..., oh my gosh what happened here," he lost control over his temper, fear overcoming his heart. "What did you do? How could this happen, look at all this blood. Are you mental? Is nearly dying once not enough for you?" he let his emotions ran on and rushed to Draco's side. Harry saw Draco flinch at his loud voice, but honestly he did not give a damn about Draco's hearing right now. He kneeled next to the Slytherin and started to heal the heavy bleeding arm.

"First, do not make such a drama out of this. Please do us both a favour and calm down," the blond dared to say, sounded like his voice would fail him any moment.

"What are you... how could you do this to me," Harry snapped. The sight of Draco covered in his own blood, was a sight Harry had sworn he never wanted to see again. "Do you know how many bloody nightmares I have of you bleeding to death in this bloody room?" he said, his own voice still shaking. How often had he dreamed that Snape came too late, that Draco did die from the spell he casted.

"You say bloody a lot, for this kind of situation," Draco mocked him, with the lame joke. Harry really had to keep himself form hitting him right then and there.

Draco looked like a wandering corpse. In fact Harry remembered zombie-movies in which the zombies looked more alive than Draco did right now.

"Have you come across a mirror the last month or so?" he asked, trying to get a hold on his temper.

"Of course I have. What a stupid question is that? I hide in a girls lavatory, It is rather difficult to not come by a mirror here," was said defensively, but the voice was getting smaller still.

"And did you look into the mirror? At all? Really, all the good breeding and aristocratic features, that make you rather interesting are looking more and more horrifying these days," Harry replied and felt himself blushing, as he rethought what he had just confessed. It was the truth, Draco was an interesting man, when he wasn't just skin and bones. It was worrying.

"Potter, I'm feeling dizzy," Draco whispered all of a sudden, obviously incapable of giving him a witty retort for his previous comment.

"Of course you are. Come on, put your arm around my neck," he said softly. He had healed the bleeding cuts and cleaned Draco as best as he could. Now it was time for a change of scenery.

"Potter, if I get up now, I will faint. What part of dizzy while seating are you unable to understand. I will not get up," Draco barked without a bite, but still it made Harry smile: "Really, I must be an utter idiot in your mind. You must wonder, how I survived so far at all."

"You have no idea how often I wonder about that," Draco stated, and really appeared to have thought about it a lot.

Harry knew he shouldn't find this amusing. However hearing the truth so plainly was entertaining: "As long as I'm able to clean after you." He rolled his eyes at himself and grabbed Draco's arm to put it around his neck. Then he bent down and picked Draco up. And oh god, he was so thin and light it took Harry no effort at all to carry him.

Harry looked down at the floor and so the lake of blood there. What was Draco thinking? He started to vanish the mess, because they could not just leave it, for someone to see. For sure Myrtle was bound to come back sometime later today, and she would have a conniption seeing so much blood on her floor.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked him, sounding confused.

"Cleaning away your blood, so that nobody goes and search for a heavily wounded girl," he answered truthfully. This was Draco's mess! And he was still angry at the brat.

Draco, however, chose to make even more jokes: "That is very thinking ahead of you. I am impressed, even in my dizzy state. Remind me to mark the date in my calendar." As Harry looked down at the blond, he could see the slightly down casted eyes.

Distracting from his situation with weak jokes, was Draco's way to cope with the situation. Harry knew that, but it stung at the moment. As Draco leaned into Harry, he had to swallow all different kind of emotions. It felt like Draco really trusted him, to take care of the situation. It felt way to good, to be trusted in such an open, honest way by the Slytherin.

"Very funny, Malfoy. Very funny. You do know that I actually won a war. Not singlehandedly like everybody wants to believe, but I won," he played along, only to distract himself too. Somehow Harry felt thrown of his game right now. What should he do, how could he really help Draco.

"I know, Potter. And I am very grateful for that. World would be horrible if you had lost, believe..." Draco's voice died away, as the boy fell asleep. Harry felt a spark of panic. He was sure it was not good, that Draco was asleep right now, but he was also sure that waking Draco up right now, wouldn't keep him from falling asleep again and again. In the end, with all the blood-loss Harry didn't expect Draco to be able to stay awake, so he let him sleep.

Harry called for Kreacher, because the house elf was still bound to him, which would allow Harry to order him, to keep this a secret from the Headmistress. He asked the elf to be shown to a room, where they could stay and try to sort this out. Kreacher was way to overjoyed to not only help "Master Harry Potter, sir" but also "noble Master Draco Malfoy".

The elf showed Harry one of the guestrooms, which had been prepared for the Yule-Ball but hadn't been used. It was a nice comfortable room, and Harry thanked Kreacher, before laying Draco down in the middle of the bed.

He sat beside the stupid idiot, leaning against the wall. He would check every fifteen minutes if Draco was still breathing and was in fact still having a heartbeat. Only as noon went by, Draco's heartbeat seemed to have grown stronger once more, so that Harry allowed himself to relax too.

Kreacher not only brought Harry breakfast and lunch, but also cleaned Draco's cloths. The elf also brought Draco a feast of a meal, and it had taken Harry quite a discussion to make Kreacher take the meal away and bring a light soup. Apparently Kreacher thought like Harry when it came to Draco and food: More could only be better. The problem was, Harry was pretty sure, that Draco would not be able to stomach such a feast. He knew from experience how it would hurt, to eat after a long time of very little food.

He felt Draco move next to him, and stroke through the silky, blond hair again, like he had done most of the time, since they arrived in this room.

"Potter, what is going on?" Draco said, voice still rough from sleep. He also sounded quite disorientated but Harry figured, that couldn't be helped for the moment.

"You passed out, idiot brat of a pure-blood," he answered the question, and felt his temper rise once more, as he remembered how he had found Draco, sitting in his own blood, trying to convince Harry, that everything was alright.

"I remember falling asleep as it took you hours to clean away a little blood. What I do not remember is you explaining to me where we are here," the Slytherin went right back to arguing with Harry once more. Harry really had trouble to not hex the git into next week. Were such dramatics really necessary between the two of them? Hadn't they been through enough by now?

"We are in one of the guest-rooms. I didn't want to take you to the Gryffindor Tower because for one it is rather far away and the other, I don't think that you are able to handle the experience of my dorm right now," he answered the question, after he had counted to ten, and was sure his temper would not jump out of him. He noticed Draco relaxing next to him once again. At least, that was something. When Draco remained silent again, Harry dared to ask a question himself: "How are you feeling?"

"Is this truly the question you want to ask me now?", was replied instead of a simple answer to his question.

"No, I truly want to ask if you've gone completely? If you've lost the plot? And most importantly, if you were thinking at all, what the hell were you thinking?" Harry's control slipped and his temper got the better of him. "I just don't believe that you would answer any of those questions honestly, so I picked one that is actually not intrusive, considering how I found you," he conceded after a moment of thinking. He knew he sounded defeated, but that couldn't be helped. This was indeed one huge mess. And Harry was not sure if they both were prepared to clean it up.

"I have not lost the plot. In my family, we do not get the luxury of losing the plot without being locked away. And as you experienced firsthand, my ancestral home has ample space for one to be locked up in," Draco taunted him. As Harry looked down at him, he saw the tight lines in Draco's face. Draco knew what he was doing. And it must have worked well, for the brat in the past, but Harry was done playing games.

"See, I was right. You can't even tell me if you are in pain now," he simply said. He didn't resent Draco for his ways, he just hoped that Draco would understand that such a behaviour was not necessary between the two of them. Well, this deserved to be said out loud Harry figured: "If you think about it, it's rather daft of both of us. We can't lie about our pasts into the faces of one another, but we do so much to hide the present from each other. How screwed is that."

"We cannot lie about the past, because we were both too involved in each other's life..." Draco said, but Harry had to interrupt him: "We are involved in each other's present too, you just ignore it for your own reasons."

"Given our past, it is perfectly reasonable for me to try and stay out of your way. Once we are done with this school, I imagine we will see very little, if anything from each other," Draco explained so simply, without ever realising how frightening this sentiment was to Harry. He didn't want to never see Draco again. Draco belonged in his life, had been in his life for the last eight years. No, he refused to believe that they would not see each other after school, simply because the Slytherin said so.

"It's not only that I don't believe this to be true, but it'll also be quite hard to achieve. The Wizarding World is not that big, we will see each other."

"Not if I refuse to leave my home," Draco really tried to have an argument with Harry right now.

So Harry remarked: "I could come and visit you." The Slytherin wasn't the only strong headed person in this conversation!

"You would not dare," Draco struggled to get up. The look he shot Harry was fierce, Malfoy- pride getting the better of Draco.

"I would. When I really need someone to point out my mistakes, I would go and find you. Because for reasons not quite clear to me either, you're the only one who is brave enough to tell the truth to my face. Even my friends found excuses for my faults. They don't see me as a hero, but they are willing to overlook my mistakes, as long as they are non academic and non criminal, very easily," Harry confessed to Draco, needing the blond to understand, that the connection between them should not be served this easily. Because it wasn't possible for them to simply cut each other off.

"Yeah well, your friends are Gryffindors after all," he could hear Draco whisper, as he turned his head away. Why would Draco not understand how things worked between the two of them?

"Yes, they are. Well most of them. Luna is far too Ravenclaw to be a Gryffindor," commented lightly, trying to lighten the mood, since it was really not helping for Draco to have a fit right now.

"I never will understand her sorting. Honestly I think she is something else," the blond jumped at this new topic only too happily.

"It doesn't always make sense what she says, but she is very witty. I enjoy talking to her, although it confuses me," he smiled, and let the happy feeling grow. Harry counted himself really fortunate for knowing one Luna Lovegood. The world was a brighter, better place with her in it.

Harry watched Draco closely. What had driven the proud and strong man, to such crude actions, as to cut himself open?

"Will you tell me what has happened this morning?" he asked softly. He wanted to understand. He needed to understand. The thought of seeing Draco die was frightening, and he was sure, he would have nightmares because of what he saw tonight.

"Potter, I really cannot", Draco simply answered, and it was like a stab. Maybe some things really could not be changed? Maybe they would never be able to work around their differences. It was a sobering thought. Maybe he really had just acted out of his own obsession with Draco. Harry had, after all, never been able to leave Draco Malfoy alone. Something drew him to the Slytherin. That didn't mean that Draco felt the same. And simply annoying Draco into being his friend, didn't seem to really work. He had tried this past month very hard. The outcome wasn't promising.

"No, Potter, listen to me: I literally cannot. It is not that I do not want to, but I cannot. I do not remember," Draco suddenly said, sounding odd. Harry felt his temper rise again, because this had to be another taunt. Did Draco really believe him such an idiot?!

"Are you kidding me? I healed your hand. And I am pretty sure that I healed more than just today's cuts, but there are quite a few left. God, if you make some more downward cuts you can have the complete chessboard on your arm," he exploded, surprising himself. Why would Draco want to hurt him so much? Harry was trying to help. Trying and failing obviously, but he really was trying.

Draco looked at him with wide eyes, before he whispered in a near inaudible voice:"No, I do not want to mock you." Harry noticed Draco's body tensing up again.

"I can remember the other cuts, but today... I was just so...I can handle pressure, my whole life is pressure. I dare you to think weak of me! I might be a coward, but I am not weak," Draco stated and moved away from Harry again. Harry could only stare back at Draco in pure puzzlement: "I never thought that you were weak. Many things, not all of them flattering, but I never thought you weak. You stayed alive in the mess your own father had helped to create. Who else is there, who can say the same?" How could he think of Draco as weak? After all they've been through and survived? And Draco still thought about his future, his family, his mother. Harry was deeply impressed by the strength Draco had shown in the hell of the war.

Harry had to know, had to understand why Draco had chosen the lavatory. Somehow it seemed important. Harry was sure it was important.

"But why would you cut yourself open, why in that room? You nearly died there! I nearly killed you there. I was so angry at you, I never knew myself the way I do since that moment," he asked and tried to explain himself at the same time. He could still feel the anger soaring through his body. Back then he had felt strong and powerful, now however he only felt helpless and small.

"It was a horrible moment for you," Draco stated and to Harry it sounded like a question. How could there be any doubt? Of course it was a horrible moment! He never intended to kill anyone.

"Do you want to know what I felt in that moment?" Draco said further, startling Harry out of his thoughts. " I felt fucking grateful. I was going to die, and it made me feel free again. If I had died then and there... never to mention the benefit of being the one and only black-spot in the hero tales about you. I would have been great at that. Haunting you from my grave and becoming immortal with you at the same time. That would have been a victory you would never have been able to undo." There was that stinging humour again.

Harry understood. It was not humour intended to hurt him, only to hide away the truth that was shared. Maybe Harry could come to live with that. It was a sign to understand when something was embarrassing to Draco. Everybody has their way to cope with hurtful, embarrassing things. Draco's was sarcasm, Harry lost his temper or went to brood over what was hurting him. But the statement was still frightening. Did this mean that Draco still wished he had died? But he couldn't ask such a upfront question, because Draco would never answer it.

"So you regret Snape saving you?" he tried to make it sound less intruding.

"Do I still wish to die, is what you are really asking, right?" Draco said, and somehow he seemed to be irked by Harry's try. Of course he was! He had never the right words, when it came to talking to Draco.

"No, I do not want to die. I cannot leave my mother alone. She is not a born Malfoy some of the wards at the Manor must give her hell, others, that were taken down, cannot be set up by her. I have to go home. Also I am very certain that she is already displeased with all the politics and economy she has to involve herself in right now. She does not care for these things," Draco stated and Harry just looked at his face. There was an openness he had never noticed before. Draco truly loved his mother; and obviously his home, which was harder to understand for Harry.

"Why are you so in love with your stupid home? Every time you speak of it, you get this very soft tone. I mean you got lost in it, you have to go for miles to get somewhere, and even better, Voldemort himself held court there. How can you not resent it, fear it, hate it?" he asked again, before he could hold himself back. It was another intrusive question better not asked, but he Draco cared so much for his home, it must be very important to him.

"It is my home. It has been the home to my family since we first moved to Britain. Some of the magic there is so strong that even the Dark Lord could not change it. And in Spring and Summer, when the flowers are blooming and everything is green, it is the most inviting sight. It is the safest place I know of and I never have been gone from it for so long," Draco said, and the words were tinged with longing. Harry inwardly rolled his eyes on himself. Draco was right sometimes- he really was an idiot. It must be very special to have a home, that was lived in by one's forefathers for such a long time. It must also be very comforting to know the history on one's family in such great detail. Harry only knew bits and pieces from his parents life, but no one ever bothered to tell him more about the Potter family. And his aunt would never talk about her parents either. Harry had long ago come to the conclusion, that he might never really get to know the history of his family.

"I am homesick Potter. This is, what this all was about. I am homesick, I miss my mother, and her calm demeanours, with which she always finds a way to turn the situation around. I miss her Christmas cookies, and the way the Manor would gleam in the snow. But most of all, I miss my room, my bed, the silence in the morning, when the first light begins to only touch the wall. Go ahead and laugh, I guess after the shock and all, I owe you one," Draco said suddenly, and Harry could only too well understand the sentiment: "Why would I laugh at that? This is the way I feel about Hogwarts. I am so afraid that this year will be over, and I can't come back here. Where will I live? Where should I go? Where will the others be? It is a horrible thought. That is the reason why I stayed, because going away would have hurt too much."

"You cannot stay here forever. It is a school, you know?" Draco pointed out, and Harry had to snort. Of course, now Draco would state the bloody obvious. Snape would've deducted house points for such a statement from Harry.

"I know. But for the moment, we can pretend," Harry replied.

"Pretend?" Draco asked sounding surprised.

"Pretend. I do it all the time: Pretend to care , pretend to not care. Pretend to be happy, to be not angry, to be ok, to be comfortable. I pretend so much, sometimes it nearly feels real," Harry confessed, and felt suddenly very, very vulnerably in front of Draco. He never had talked about it before.

"Then how do you know it is not real?" Draco asked again. Harry had to stop himself from shaking his head. How could Draco, who pretended so many things, not know the difference?

"It feels wrong. Like when I want to shout at all of them to leave me alone, but I find myself going along with their questions. I even pretended to not care how often you would just walk away from a conversation with me, when in truth I did care, a lot," Harry confessed and looked into Draco's eyes. Now that he started, he might as well see it through! So he took a deep breath and moved on: "The thing is, besides my friends you are the one person I don't have to pretend around. I have to hide a little, because being weak in front of you is scary. Seeing as you can relate to that, I would guess our pride is getting the better of us. Because in the end, what you said to me was true. I truly have no plan of how to go on, and I _am_ afraid that I will join the Aurors because I can't find anything else I can be good at... Well, besides the walking out part, there I plainly pretended. That was hard to take. I mean I understand, that it is hard for you to be seen with me, because attention is where I am, not that I really can help that." However after he had said that, he suddenly felt bare in front of Draco, like he just had given away all his big secrets, even though he knew that that wasn't true.

"Potter, you lost me. What is it you are trying to say, because I feel like I am getting the wrong impression here," Draco sounded confused. Of course, now the witty Slytherin would go and get the wrong impression.

"If you get the impression, that I tried to befriend you for the last couples of weeks and you made it a nearly Spartan endeavour for me, then you got the right impression," Harry said and smiled at Draco. He was sure that the underhanded complement to Draco's stubbornness would not go amiss.

As Draco rolled his eyes at Harry, he had to hide a big grin. Those were the moments, when Harry thought how well they knew each other.

"Really? How should I have known? Given our history, it was more likely that you were part of some scheme or another. It might have escaped your notice, but I am not the most tolerated person right now. Besides I did not walk out on you that often. I do not even recall us speaking that often," Draco said and sounding once more a little defensive, but Harry was sure he also noted a hint of humour in the words. But suddenly Draco tensed up against him once more: "It was you. You did something so that they left me alone. YOU said something to Smith and the others."

Oh, that. Well, Harry couldn't deny it, because it was true. He had said something to Smith and some other brats, because he refused to see Smith walking around, like he did something important, besides saving his own skin.

"Might've pointed out some of their mistakes," he said quietly.

"Is this your hero-thing enactment? Because really I refuse to be part of this. just so you can realise your heroics while turning bad," Draco barked suddenly, looking like he might spit fire like a real dragon any second.

"What? No, of course not! I don't care about all that hero- crap, and you know that! It's just... you paid what you owed. You are on probation and just because they didn't fight for the losing side, doesn't give them the right to punish you. Vendettas are unnecessary at least when Smith is involved. I'm not saying that you don't deserve some of the resentment you have to live with. It'll be your duty to make up to them, but there are people out there, who have no room to talk, and Smith is right on top of that list," he shot back, sounding exactly as defensive as Draco. He was sure his words were all wrong and somehow the message he really wanted to say would get tangled up and come out all wrong, but Draco needed to understand. Yes, he had interfered, but not just for Draco, but also for truth and justice.

"Alright. I can live with that," Draco leaned back next to him and relaxed again. Harry looked at him surprised.

"Yes, obviously I understood the sentiment behind your blubber. Might as well say, I must have picked up Potterish in the last years," Draco grinned broadly, and a smile tugged at Harry's lips as well: "That's good then. So I can come to you, when I need help with wording and all."

"Well, yes, but be aware you might have to enter my horrid home to find me." and the familiar ground was back. All in all it was a difficult conversation, but somehow they managed to make it bearable for the both of them. Harry could not imagine talking to someone else besides his two best friends, the way he could talk with Draco.

"I believe strongly in redemption and redecoration, and maybe you can show me why you like it there so much," Harry teased back, but hoped that maybe this could really happen.

"Maybe," came the soft answer from next to him. Harry had watched Draco so closely that he saw the gray eyes shifting to something next to Harry. Oh, the long fought for soup, Harry had forgotten about it.

"Ah, yes that's for you, when you'd wake up," he said and sounded sheepish to his own ears. He fetched the tray for Draco and handed it over. He watched Draco eating in silence. It was very interesting seeing Draco eat. There was no noise coming from his spoon as the blond moved it in the bowl, neither did he make any slurping noises. Having eaten seven years at the Gryffindor table, it was mysterious to Harry how Draco managed that.

Only after the bowl was empty and Draco has finished his meal, did Harry dare to speak again.

"You are a very neat eater, I noticed that back in first year. I never have seen anybody eat like you," he complimented quietly. It was impressive after all.

"Considering that you are sitting next to Weasley- Ronald Weasley, it is no wonder that you would note other peoples manners. Is there any food, that will not find its way in his mouth?" Harry was sure that Draco had softened the insult for Harry's benefit. Draco did not want to fight, and neither did Harry.

"Not that I've seen so far. He really likes to eat. But if you'd taste his mothers cooking you'd understand the Hogwarts kitchen is not that bad either," Harry answered lightly. However he was not interested in discussing Ron's eating habits now, he was far more interested in Draco's. He tried to think of a way to say what he had noticed without sounding to brute. Then he remembered that Draco not only took offense if he tried to say things differently and that Draco would understand him, hopefully, yet again.

"You can't eat when you are stressed, right? You are so thin and bony because since 6th year you are having troubles. Am I right?"

Harry could feel Draco tensing up, and the answer he got, was more defensive than all the ones before: "As you clearly have it figured out, I think we do not need to talk about it, do we?"

"You've a point, we don't need to talk about that either. But you know, we can, if you ever want to talk about it" Harry conceded. He himself didn't believe that talking about things made them better, but sometimes it helped. Never to mention, that not eating wasn't a healthy lifestyle.

"I am not starving myself. Please try to listen: I am not trying to kill myself. It is just, when I am stressed food does not only not appeal to me. But every bite makes my stomach cramp in a very painful way, never to mention the nausea," Upon hearing this words, a tight knot in Harry's stomach seemed to unfold. Having Draco state so clearly that he wished to live, was reassuring and pleasant.

That however didn't make the circumstances less worrisome. He was familiar with the pains food or its absence were able to cause, but this was just one thing. The cutting was another thing, and then there was the hiding. How could he help Draco? No, that was wrong. Draco would feel offended if Harry only tried to befriend him, to save him. And really, it might have started out that way, with his list and all, but that wasn't all of it. It was not even the half. He felt comfortable around Draco. The blond was witty, clever and no matter how often Harry would ask the same simple question, he would try to explain it to him. Draco was also brave in his own way and he simply refused to be saved by Harry, just because Harry might have the means to. Harry had to admit to himself that the first attraction he had felt all those weeks ago, maybe even years, was now a serious fascination.

As Harry lifted his head up again, looked into Draco's deep eyes of warm, molten silver, he felt that maybe the both of them deserved the truth to be said out loud. And so like a true Gryffindor he spoke what was on his mind: "You know how you said, that I should not save you? What if I really want for you to save me? What if I've done all this, not only because I want to get to know you, and be close to you, but also because I felt like you are the one person that can really and truly save me from myself?"

Before a heartbeat has passed by, Draco answered swiftly: "I would suggest that you are mental."

Somehow those words shocked him, but at the same time he had the urge to laugh. Yes, surly that was what Draco Malfoy would think of him. Even if Harry wished that Draco would take his words serious, because to him, they were the truth of his own heart, that he only learned to acknowledge in the last weeks.

"This is all because I could not leave you alone, is it not?"

"It could also be because I couldn't leave you alone, think about that," he teased back and bumped ever so slightly his shoulder against Draco's.

"You are crazy, you must be," Draco stated again, sounding more confused and less confident than before.

Harry thought about all his friendships and the people, who really mattered to him. Remembered all the fun he had experienced even when everything was going wrong: "Crazy usually works fine for me," he simply said and smiled.

"What is it that, you are even suggesting, because we are back to wrong impressions for me," Draco's voice hitched ever so slightly, but Harry could hear it nonetheless.

"You are getting ahead of yourself. First, I don't date skeletons, second I've not dated for long and have very little experience with it. So we will try this simple: We will see, if we can be friends. You know, spending time with each other, without hexing or walking away. We will try to talk, someday even revisit some of the topics from today and you really need to eat, but I'll gladly help you there. And then, if the feelings are there, we can take the risk and try to date. We are different from the rest, we have a history, there are things we don't need to explain to each other, and things we seriously need to talk about a lot," Harry explained what he had in mind for a beginning.

The Slytherin's face seemed to gleam, when he started to speak again:"I am not sure if you are ludicrous or kinky."

_What?_

"Kinky? What about my idea is kinky?" he asked shocked. He wasn't kinky! He simply was not! At least not to his own knowledge.

"Dating your school rival would count as kinky Potter, I am very sure of that," Draco grinned and moved ever so slightly a little closer.

"We are befriending at first. To see if all that was about you, was really about you," Harry tried to defend himself. And when and how exactly had they switched roles again? Wasn't Harry supposed to be the brave one here?

"For me it was about you, always has been always will." Draco came closer again. Harry felt his eyes move to Draco's lips, before he could stop himself. But then he remembered a very easy way to throw Draco of his game.

"You know, the way you speak, so very posh and ritzy. I kinda like that too." Harry didn't even try to suppress the satisfied feeling that spread from his gut as he saw the surprise in Draco's face. That was how it should be: Both of them in an ever losing and winning battle, nothing set in stone, but comfortable and constant all the same.

And as Draco had stopped coming closer, Harry moved the last inches and kissed the blond. He felt his heartbeat getting faster, just from this simple gesture. Oh, good lord. This had every potential to become addictive, and Harry had to stop himself from going further.

"Later, when we are dating, and managing to call each other by the first name," he promised when he let go of Draco's lips. He saw the still slightly dazed look in Draco's eyes and had to hide his smile.

"Later then _Potter_ , but remember it was your idea with the first name rule when I look dashing once again," was the late reply Harry got for his trouble.

"Don't worry, I'll get you to call me Harry. Got you to talk to me too, Draco," he answered simply and tested the name on his tongue for the first time. It was so easy, nearly natural, maybe it was after all this time, Harry called him Draco in his mind.

"You know Potter. Next year on this day you will be celebrating the Yule night at the Manor, are you prepared for that?" Draco asked sounding very pleased with himself, for having thought of that particular argument.

Harry didn't have to think long for the perfect thing to retaliate: "Sure, we can do the Dinner at your parents house, but I will be expected at the Burrow for Christmas lunch, and we've to work that you will be too."

He noticed how Draco stocked in his movements. That the Slytherin hadn't seen coming.

"Oh Merlin. I think I need to lie down again," Draco said with all the theatrics one would expect of a Malfoy.

However as the blond lay next to him once more, Harry didn't even try to resist the urge to comb through the soft, silky hair, like he had done before Draco had woken up.

It'd be a long, hard road for them to get happy together. Draco wasn't well, and Harry had many problems of his own, but maybe that was the key: They couldn't both be happy when they were on opposite sites, so it made sense to think that they could be happy, when they fought for the same goal. And for Harry this held its own kind of romantic beauty in it. Maybe in a few years, he could ask Draco if he saw the romance in it too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment for the author here or on LIVEJOURNAL ♥


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